Regained
by holdinghisheart
Summary: 'Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold.' Those perilous words Myrcella had finally understood, after all these years. Now she must break free from the chains of lies, become a player in the game of thrones, watch the feral blood as it spills, and then regain the crown of truth. Myrcella/Robb AU
1. The Golden Princess

**Summary: **''Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold.'' Those perilous words Myrcella had finally understood, after all these years. Now she must break free from the chains of lies, become a player in the game of thrones, watch the feral blood as it spills, and then regain the crown of truth Myrcella/Robb AU

**Important changes; **Okay, so basically this is an AU in which Myrcella gets a larger part in the games. I adore Myrcella, and I have long now wondered what would have happened if she had seen through her family's lies and stood up for herself, because she's literally drowned by her family's lies in the books and I've always thought of it as terribly unfortunate that she's too young to understand that. So, notice that I have made Myrcella the firstborn child of Robert (Jaime) and Cersei, so that she's fourteen; and that Joffrey is two years younger than her. I really do try to make these things as faithful to the books as possible, but Myrcella is older, and Robb and Jon will be one year older than in the books which makes them fifteen, although they start as fourteen. Other than that, the ages are just the same as in the books.

**Cast;** I often get this very question asked on my stories, so I decided to just tell you guys at the start! So, when I started to write this I had no clue in whom I imagined Myrcella as, but then out of nowhere I couldn't even write a simple word without imagine Myrcella as the very beautiful and, oh so, talented actress Lily James (who is most known for her role in Downton Abbey, Fast Girls, and her upcoming role in the new version of Cinderella, *_cough_* in which she stars with Richard Madden *_cough_*. Coincidence? I think not ;) If you want to see how she looks like, you can go to my profile.

_**UPDATED AGAIN; **My amazing beta Maddie Rose, whom I'm very grateful for, has now looked through this chapter and helped me with the grammar... so that's why I've decided to upload this chapter again! :)_

**【** **The Golden Princess** **】**

* * *

_Myrcella had all of her mother's beauty,  
__and none of her nature._

* * *

She watched the waves as they moved seamlessly across one another, black against black, dark against dark, freedom against freedom. They rose confidently against the wind, as if by their own will, as if to deny the wind's force and be stronger than ever before. Their war-cry was but a simple breath, a lingering sight of sorts, as if they'd truly grown tedious of the naughty gale. Myrcella took a deep breath from where she was standing, emerald-green eyes staring at the beauty of the sea. Truly, it was just as far away from her as it had always been; and she found herself in her presence alone, standing gloomily in her bedchamber and watching it with a longing heart. Although, she could practically feel herself being filled with the heady scent of a brewing storm, of power and of salt and of everything she had ever dreamt of. It was a bright sunny day, the sky a blue parallel in the horizon, and it reflected elegantly in the water waves and made it all so much more appealing when the darkness somehow seemed to fade underneath the mighty lighting of the sun's rays… it was such a day to be kept in her heart forevermore, to have in her memories whenever she felt sad and empty and longed for something to take her mind away for only a split second before she would return to the reality she called life.

Yes, Myrcella knew that her dreams would forever remain within this sight before her, the clear sea, so peaceful as its waves danced for the singing wind. Without any hesitation, she could - if possible - stand there and watch the lazy and dazzling waves until her last dying breath, and no complaint would leave her lips… not even once. It was only so awfully sad that the golden-haired princess knew that she could never do such a thing, could never live a life in such a powerful and consuming freedom. No, Myrcella was a princess, and such thoughts and dreams ought not drift through a princess's mind. Septa Eloisa had always told her that a true princess should be overjoyed by the wealth she had been born with, and that she should be the grateful and delighted little girl who will soon be the most beloved woman of all times. _I am a princess_, Myrcella thought to herself, yet happiness never engulfed her at that precise thought, nor did gratitude to the gods for the given. She had been born as the king and the queen's firstborn, a daughter, but she had also been what neither of them had truly wanted at that time.

Myrcella knew this, knew that a girl wasn't supposed to be crowned and reign over mighty kingdoms... No, they had needed a son; and two years later Joffrey had been born, and with him relief had followed like a sharp breath of air for the kingdom that had awaited for such a long time, the kingdom that he would - when he grew a man - rule over. Truly, after much of thinking... Myrcella knew that she had never wanted to be queen, but she wanted to be _someone_; someone to be cherished and loved. A soul for a soul, she wanted to gain a passion of heat to be felt until the end of time.

Yet Myrcella indeed knew that such a sensibility was not an easy one, and the golden-haired girl had yet to see true love before her very eyes. With an instant, her mind drifted to her mother and father, and how much she had once wished for them to love each other. It had been impossible for certain, she had always known so, and even though she refused to tell herself so. She had for a very long time remained being that foolish little girl that believed that love would always conquer hate, before one late night when Joffrey had overheard her prayers and called her stupid for praying for something that would never happen. Myrcella had only glared at him with silent but angry eyes, but yet she had known more than well that her younger brother had only but told her the painful truth; that love would never be possible for her parents, only anguish and resent could ever be seen, and Myrcella had stopped praying for a change a long time ago.

It had always been so terribly saddening to see two people loathe each other with everything inside of them… but then Myrcella remembered all the times Ser Barristan had taken her to the streets of the city, and she had with wide and awed eyes witnessed husbands and wives playing with their children, and she _had _felt her heart flutter as she had watched them. She distantly remembered thinking at six namedays that the men might not have been a knight in shining armor nor a highborn, handsome lord; but their wives had so obviously loved them more than their own life and, _oh_, so much more… and those memories still warmed Myrcella's heart even after all of the years of countless overheard fights between her beautiful mother and her king father.

But although so many people called her father heartless, Myrcella knew that he was anything but heartless. Her father was a broken man… undone… shattered… because he once _had_ loved someone so strongly and true. Myrcella had many times heard tales and songs of the woman who had conquered her father's heart, who had been beautiful enough to make him so terribly blinded for any other woman. It was the fair she-wolf, _Lyanna Stark_, who had made her father to this man he had become, a dark and gloomy shell of the man who lived in those tales and songs, the man who Myrcella wanted to meet so terribly much that her heart clenched within her chest at the simple thought. The golden-haired princess remembered when she had one evening had her father all to herself and she had been bold and brave enough to ask him if he could tell her about those days himself, the days that made him happy for life.

Even this day, Myrcella remembered the way he had looked at her then, as if he was trying to figure her out, as if he had truly _seen_ her for the very first time in his life. Nonetheless, he had told her what she had desired to hear, and never had Myrcella seen her father look so bewitched before as when he had told her of Lyanna Stark, acted as if in a haze of long lost memories that he wanted back more than anything. It had saddened Myrcella deeply to know that her father loved the memory of a dead girl with all his shattered heart and would most clearly never repair from losing her… but she knew that her father loved _her_, loved his daughter with his broken heart; and more Myrcella knew that she could never truly ask for. No, her father was not a heartless man, only a ruined one… touched by the tragedy of love.

Her queen mother though, the beautiful woman who Myrcella had always loved and admired, was _anything_ but broken. Without any sort of hesitation, Myrcella knew that her mother was one of the strongest women ever lived in in this world. She was a golden-haired beauty, tall and fair and just as elegant as the songs of her were sung. Myrcella had all too many times in her life been told that she looked just as her mother when she was but a young girl, and although she should be grateful for the words; it had always awoken something deep within her, and she would always believe that she had something terribly hard to prove whenever those specific word were spoken to her. She was her mother's daughter though, that was most clear with only an innocent little glimpse at her. Myrcella truly loved her mother, and although Cersei very many times may not have spoken and acted as a true mother ought; Myrcella knew that Cersei loved her with everything inside of her, but somehow her mother seemed more bewitched with her brother Joffrey; while her father seemed to favor Myrcella more than her two brothers. It was so clear in every little harmless gesture… The way her mother would look at Joffrey whenever he did something… _that's _the affection Myrcella wanted too.

Deep within her heart, she felt that Joffrey did not deserve such an affection. He was terribly arrogant and childish, her brother; more so than a boy who shall be king within years should be. He had their mother tending to him every second of every day, and Myrcella wondered if it was her mother's powerful affections only or if it simply had been the crown upon their father's head, and the constant reminder that that crown would one day be upon _his_ head as he ruled as a true king ought - that had made her brother start thinking that he was much better than everyone else in his presence. Doubtless, Myrcella knew she could not speak ill of Joffrey, her brother… She truly did love him, although it somehow seemed as if her brother wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her weep for the sake of his own twisted happiness… but she could not say that she hated him, for she did not, she could not. Most certainly, she had more memories that held naught than good whenever she thought of her brother, and she always found herself swatting away those many memories when they shamelessly crossed her mind.

Myrcella remembered when she had been nothing but eight namedays and her father had given her a graceful cat as a nameday-gift. It was such a small little thing, with a white chest and paws and then black all over and yellow big eyes that stared always, and she had never been so delighted before. The happiness had not lasted that long though, for only mere moons later Myrcella had learned that her kitten, whom she had named Siany, was awaiting kittens. She had told Joffrey who had been nothing but six namedays with a bright smile, believing that he would become excited about the news as well, and she even told him that both he and Tommen could get a kitten too. Hours later, though, Myrcella had walked down the stairs after hearing Joffrey calling her name with glee. He had been holding something in his cupped hands, something red and cold and lifeless… and it was only seconds later when she had caught sight of her cat sliced open behind her brother's slim frame, and her unborn and dead kittens still hanging out from her red, red, _red _stomach. Myrcella had wailed out a broken cry and fallen down to the ground so loud that both their father and mother had come running with several knights at their heels, swords drawn for possible danger. And although Myrcella would never admit it to even herself, satisfaction _had_ bloomed in her heart when she had seen Father struck her brother so hard that Joffrey's two teeth had been knocked out and he had started to cry as well.

It was strange but terribly delighting that everything her brother Joffrey was, her youngest brother Tommen was not. No, Tommen was the sweetest and kindest boy that ever lived. Myrcella knew with all her heart that she would always love Tommen the most, even though she should never say or feel such. Her youngest brother had never done bad, nor was he mean or cruel to her in any way. He always enjoyed being in Myrcella's presence, even when she only read. It did not matter to him if she not always felt like playing with him or if she wanted silence to think; because for Tommen her presence alone would suffice, and he would always shyly knock on her door and ask to just sit and be with her. Her brother was a very shy little boy, and Myrcella found it that he could only ever be himself whenever he was with her. Tommen did not like to be with other people, and he always managed to creep away at such events, if not forced to stay by their queen mother. Either way, Myrcella knew that Tommen looked up to her, his sister, and that knowledge warmed her to the very bone. Just like herself, Tommen was not fond of Joffrey… and she could understand that most well as Joffrey always picked on him every chance her could possibly get. It was clear in every way that Tommen was no Joffrey… and for that Myrcella would always be grateful to the gods.

Myrcella looked back at the sea again, before she shook her head as if to escape the thick haze of forbidden thoughts she had been trapped within. The golden-haired girl took a deep breath, before she forced her green eyes away from the beautiful sight she witnessed while standing at her small bedchamber-balcony. She already knew that she would not be permitted to go down to the sea, even though she had nothing to do this day. Myrcella knew this very well, for she had lived through the same morning her whole life. Instead, as she always did; she walked back into her bedchamber and instantly approached the large wardrobe. Within a moment, she pulled out a beautiful silken dress colored in red and golden, _her mother's gift_. Even though Myrcella was a Baratheon, her mother was very desperate in reminding her that she was just as much of a golden lioness. Myrcella bit her full bottom-lip as she watched the fine gown, before she slowly eased herself out of her white nightgown and then pulled on the elegant dress and intertwined its white laces with quick fingers. When done, Myrcella looked into the mirror. She looked beautiful indeed, a split image of her mother in the dazzling lighting of the sun's warm rays.

At fourteen namedays, Myrcella stood taller than ever before. Within the last year, her body had begun changing for the better, and she watched as the red gown showed that well, her body more slender but her breasts grown larger, making the fair gown cling to her chest tightly. She remembered that she had blushed awfully much when her father's knights had finally started to notice her as a beauty, and seen her as a woman worth lusting after… and not the small princess who loved to play maiden fair in the gardens with her younger brothers. Her golden hair hung down in elegant waves to her lower-back, shining and glimmering in its beauty. Although living where the sun never left the bluest of skies, Myrcella's skin was pale and fair; and her lips full and pink. Her green eyes were staring back at her in the mirror, and for a split second it felt as if she was staring into the eyes of her mother, which was a common mistake she often found herself committing. Nonetheless, Myrcella truly was beautiful… she was her _mother's_ daughter, not her father's.

''So much thinking, sweetling.'' A sudden voice spoke up from behind her, obviously grinning. ''It does not fit the small girl I once knew who thought that if she were to eat enough carrots, her skin would turn orange…'''

Myrcella released a sudden gasp of surprise and sharply turned around, her crimson skirts fluttering around her. She felt her heart flutter in pure happiness as she finally saw who the intriguer was. Her uncle Jaime was standing only mere inches away from her, his strong hands closing the door behind him before he looked back at her again. He was clothed in usual armor, fair and shining beautiful while the white cloak representing the King's Guard heavily hung from his lean shoulders. His golden hair was shimmering underneath the sun's rays that came awake from her chamber's window, and his emerald eyes were staring at her with amusement. He was a witty man, her uncle; and one of the few that Myrcella truly admired and trusted. And while her uncle ought to protect her because of the white cloak around his shoulders, and the oath he had sworn to defend the royal family; the golden-haired princess knew that he would have been just as protective over her if he had not been knighted. Her uncle had always been there beside her, loved her and tended for her in the exact way she needed, ever since she could truly remember… and that's what made Myrcella dare to frown playfully at the grinning man in front of her, hand still tightly clutched to her chest to try to slow her pounding heart.

Myrcella's green eyes narrowed, but she smiled brightly nonetheless. ''I would not have believed so if my dear uncle had told me otherwise.''

''Oh, I did not dare,'' said Uncle Jaime, walking closer to where she was standing while grinning the same. ''You looked so excited.''

Myrcella's frowned at the memory, but laughed despite herself. And within seconds, as Uncle Jaime had already expected; Myrcella ran forward and flung her arms around him. She created a soft thud sound when she collided with his armored chest, but the feeling lessened in hurt when she was engulfed by the warmth of her uncle's embrace. He caught her as always, strong arms protectively caging her to his chest. Myrcella's feet left the ground, and she could not help but let out a breathy giggle as he spun her around the chamber, her long gown swirling around the two of them. His deep laughter echoed hers, and Myrcella felt her heart tightening within her chest at the sound of his happiness that told her that he had missed her just as much as she had him. She tightened her slender arms around his neck, and buried her nose in his neck. Myrcella had missed him dearly, for it had been nearly five moons since he had left King's Landing to ride towards Casterly Rock to speak with his father about matters she did not know. Myrcella felt his lips press a long kiss to her golden hair, like he always did since she was but a small child, and she smiled into his hard armor. Before Myrcella truly wanted to, she let him go and felt as he put her down on the ground. She then released a small laugh again as she looked up at his face with lightened eyes.

''I missed you,'' she spoke. ''You mustn't ever leave us again…''

Uncle Jaime only smiled, ''Oh, I would never dare...'' he mused. ''You know how much your wrath frightens me, sweetling.''

Myrcella shook her head with a regained smile, her golden hair falling around her pale face. ''It is good to see that you have not lost your wit in Casterly Rock, dear uncle.''

''Never,'' Jaime grinned, and Myrcella's green eyes fluttered close when Jaime cupped her chin in his hand and leaned forward to press another kiss to her brow, ''But I do have a surprise for you.''

Myrcella's eyebrows shut up instantly at his words and she placed her hand over his own that still covered her chin, a smile of glee tugging at her rosy lips, ''A surprise? I am not certain if I should be worried or delighted…''

Her uncle laughed loudly, his green eyes brighter than before, ''What would you say if I were to take you down to the sea today, sweetling?'' He asked her, ''As we did when you were younger? Only you and I?''

Myrcella's green eyes grew wide, and it felt as if she could not fully comprehend his words even how long she would get in silence to figure them out. She knew that Uncle Jaime knew exactly how much she was bewitched by the sea's beauty, as she had always been. It was with him that she had spoken of the sea with, sung tales and told stories. Myrcella remembered the times when Jaime would be able to be free himself from his duties for just one day to do whatever he liked, and using that day to take her down to the sea where they would spend their day together in peace and happiness.

It was a very long time since he had been freed from his important duties, though, as it had been a very long time since Myrcella had not spent her days with Septa Eloisa; and it felt much like a dream now when she finally heard those beautiful words coming from his smirking lips. At last, when she understood that she would get a day with her Uncle Jaime again, after such a long time, Myrcella erupted in a beautiful smile and she watched him with bright eyes.

''Then I would call you a sweet, sweet, _sweet _liar,'' Myrcella beamed, before she suddenly leaped forward and embraced him again with all the strength she had left in her, and she heard him release a small oomph at the sudden and unexpected affection she gave him with an eager heart. ''Oh, thank you, Uncle Jaime. Thank you. _Thank you_!''

Out of nowhere, Myrcella's chants of glee and her uncle's loud chuckles were interrupted by loud knocks on her bedchamber door. Myrcella slowly leaned away from her uncle's arms, and her green eyes found his as confusion drowned them both under a layer of denial. Nonetheless, the hurried knocks echoed throughout her bedchamber again, and Myrcella quickly remembered herself. She chastely brushed at her red gown, before she made her way towards the door, distantly feeling Uncle Jaime follow her. Myrcella's heart thumped dangerously, even though she had no possible knowledge of what she would meet behind the door. Still, there were something terribly wrong with the knocks, so hurried… so full of grief, and Myrcella could feel it deep within her bones…the horrid feeling that something had happened, something most terrible. It felt as if Uncle Jaime could read her mind, for Myrcella felt his warm hand gently take a hold on her slender arm as she finally took a deep breath and opened her heavy chamber-door with trembling hands.

If her heart had thumped painfully within her chest before she had even opened the door and seen the truth; it was nothing compared to the painful feeling she was struck by as she was met by the sight of Ser Barristan and Ser Arys standing at her door, both knights wearing a look of sorrow. They had both revealed their faces by taking of their heavy helmets, and to see that something had happened was clearer than ever in their eyes. Ser Arys, whose light-brown hair had gone damp with sweat, looked down at her with bright, blue eyes; and Myrcella found herself swallowing hard at the words she knew he would speak within seconds. Myrcella felt Uncle Jaime's comforting hands squeeze her arm, and she knew that he could feel it too…. the horrible sense of dread and grief. The golden-haired girl felt her legs tremble with the restraint of not falling down on the ground, and she looked up at the two knights with green and wide eyes, silently begging them to not hurt her.

''Princess Myrcella,'' Ser Arys finally spoke up in the silenced chamber. ''We come with sad news…''

Myrcella's rosy lips parted in wonder, and she felt her throat tightening already, burning like wildfire. ''What's the matter, ser?''

Ser Arys looked at her with pity, as if he knew that she would be terribly saddened by his words, ''I am so sorry, my princess… but Jon Arryn's dead.''

* * *

There was nothing more than an empty shell left of the man who once was so terribly friendly, but now laid in state in the castle sept. _I already knew that he had fallen so terribly ill_, Myrcella thought to herself, _and I am no more but a fool for standing here with my heart shattering out of both sadness and surprise._ The golden-haired girl looked down at him again - No, it was not him anymore, it was nothing but a corpse now - and felt the desire to weep burn her painfully in the eyes. The desire to do so had haunted her for quite some time now, lingering even after all those hours she had spent standing at his side, green eyes watching what used to be him; and the sadness did not to go away even how many times she told herself that she needed to be strong and push away the tears that still broke free and fell down her cheeks silently, for she still remembered all those countless times Lord Arryn had found her; face tear-stained and body quivering with sobs, and told her, ''_It is a waste of smiles to cry, my princess.'' _She could still hear his husky voice tell her so, the words that had always made her lips tug up in a sad but true smile... and yet as she looked down at him again in a foolish hope that it had only been but an awful nightmare; her heart dropped in sorrow again as she witnessed his ghostly pale and lifeless face.

_He is in a better place now, with the gods to tend his every need_, she told herself, as if learned. _Is that not what they all say of death?_ Myrcella was not certain anymore. When she was younger she had believed that death was nothing out of importance, but a path to another life, a _better _life. Still after she had watched Siany lain there, her yellow eyes wide and bloody and frightened after what Joffrey had done to her and her poor kittens, Myrcella knew that death was something cruel and dark. No, death was not something to take lightly, but something everyone feared… and yet something that everyone would have a taste of, even if sooner or later. Even though it did not make any possible sense, Myrcella found herself thinking of her cat Siany when she looked down at the old man. Lord Arryn did not look up at her with bloody and glossy yellow eyes, nor was his stomach slit open, nor had he dead kittens hanging out from his gut… but there was something that looked similar; _innocence_, she later understood, hands opening and closing underneath her long crimson sleeves. _A dead man ought not look like this_, Myrcella thought to herself, eyebrows knitting together in wonder. _Even in death he looks restless… as if a man whose tongue was lost before he could speak with it_. Myrcella licked her lips, her thoughts leaving her unsettled. _Let him find peace, _she prayed later, _and let him rest if it pleases him_.

Myrcella had heard whispers that Lord Arryn's wife Lady Lysa had fled from King's Landing with their son Robert only hours after his death, most likely to return to the Vale of Arryn. The words did not surprise Myrcella the slightest when they had first reached her, although her heart somehow clenched in pain when she understood that Lady Lysa would not visit her husband's body before they would take it away to never be seen again. The auburn-haired lady had always been so terribly strange to Myrcella, for somehow she managed to terrify her with as much as a simple glimpse of those, _oh so_, cold eyes. In Myrcella's harmless opinion, Lord Arryn and his wife had not felt love for each other, and they had more often spoken with each other in chaste words that meant nothing but what they _needed_ to mean. Truly, Myrcella had not spend nearly as much time with them as she had needed to if she were to inspect their marriage further than that… but she _had _often played with their son Robert when she had been younger. It had been those times when she and Jadelyn and Tommen and Robert and Joffrey had decided to play Bear and The Maiden Fair, which was a game they had created after hearing a singer sing the well-known song at one of the feasts. Well, according to Myrcella; Robert had always been a spoiled little boy who always wanted to be first and best, much like Joffrey, and _that's_ the thought that had her certain that she was not saddened with their sudden leave, mother and son the same.

But she knew that if it had been her own father lying there… so pale and unmoving and lost - Yet Myrcella could never imagine her strong bull of a father ever letting the gods take him before his rightful time - _Oh_, Gods, _if_ it had been her father; she was certain that she would have gone mad and clutched herself to his dead body instead of fleeing leagues away from it. That much she was certain of, she loved her father too much to even consider not being with him when his eyes closed forever. She did not even care the slightest if she were to leave for Dorne, as she had heard people whispering around King's Landing that she may do as she may wed a Martell, for she _would _be there with him when he drew his last breath; be there for him like the loving daughter she was. Myrcella could feel her heartbeat pounding quicker when she doubted that Robert, even how spoiled and selfish, mustn't have felt any different. _It must have been some reason for them to leave so chastely, something must have driven them away and robbed them of their farewell. Yes, it much have been something… or rather someone. _The golden-haired princess wetted her full lips again at the thought that kept on burning her mind.

Myrcella's eyes had been filled with shining tears, and it was so terribly arduous to see anything but a blurred shade as she, once again, looked down at Lord Arryn. He was dressed beautifully in a blue wool tunic and breeches as dark as the cold nights. He laid upon the white pallet in all his glory, skin pale and chest still. A blue blanket of sorts had been drawn up to his thighs, and the bluer still falcon was gracefully spreading its wings upon the white moon; presenting House Arryn so prettily. The Great Sept of Baelor remained silent in grief of the King's Hand, people both old and young fitting the beautiful castle. Lord Arryn's body rested beneath the dome of glass, gold, and crystal. The seven broad altars had been lit with hundreds of candles, and Myrcella found herself inspecting the flames that burned so dimly and hauntingly around her. _It truly stink of tears and mourning_, the golden-haired princess found herself thinking, _it feels as if I am going to empty my stomach in this obscure air_. There were hundreds of people coming to see Lord Arryn farewell, ''_So that he can find peace in the dying land he now travels to_,'' Myrcella had overheard one plump lady say after her son had asked her why they did this when they had not even known the man, and Myrcella had only but watched as they both had kneeled down before the old man and sent him a silent prayer.

Now though, most people had done as expected and slowly crept away from the Great Sept. Myrcella remained before the man's dead body still, her green eyes watching him. It felt so unbelievably strange to her, that death was so close to her and she could not even feel it. She wondered how it must have tasted, how it must have felt… and her throat ached in pain as she started to wonder if he had been alone when he took his dying breath. _It must be the most painful thing… to be alone when death comes for you. _Myrcella felt one of her tears slowly creep out from the corner of her eye, and she quickly reached up and brushed it away gingerly. Of course, Myrcella had known that Lord Arryn had fallen ill, but she had not expected him to die… not for many years. He had always been there before she could remember, before she had even been born; and in her foolish mind she had always believed that he would be there after her time as well. Is that not what every foolish child believes? Yet thinking that everyone she keep close to her heart were invincible and could not feel pain and the dark touch of death - was pure folly. Pain could be felt by anyone, and everyone could die… that much everyone knew.

Suddenly, Myrcella could feel a tug on her golden-red gown; and her green eyes quickly flickered back to life by the sudden movement. At first, she was almost certain that she had imagined it just as she had imagined Lord Arryn's blue, gentle eyes opening again, or as she had imagined this day to be a beautiful one, with Uncle Jaime taking her down to the sea where they would swim in the warm sea and she could feel happiness glow within her - and she knew that just like those foolish believes that she had mistaken so horridly, the sudden movement must have been just like them… but then she felt it again. The golden-haired princess looked down in wonder then, her head feeling heavy and troublesome and her green eyes aching and burning, and she felt her heart squeeze in both love and sadness as she saw her brother Tommen standing beside her.

Tommen looked up at her through emerald eyes that told her that he was clueless and lost. His plump frame was so short that he only but reached up to her lower-stomach, but being short at seven namedays was not so significant. Her brother's golden curls hung down so they merely brushed against his broad shoulder, trimmed and combed through carefully until they were very nearly shining underneath the sun's powerful rays. He had been dressed very sweetly, and wore a red jerkin that seemed too big for him, and an even redder cape hung around his neck, although so short that it reached down to where his crimson breeches was laced with a golden tying. A rosette had been beautifully sewn into where the claps to the cape should have been, a big knot with the color of pure fire. He looked ever the Lannister. It was no wonder to Myrcella that their mother had dressed him this day as well… They looked much rather like Lannisters than Baratheons, Myrcella knew. Nothing must have been more to their mother's satisfaction.

Tommen's green eyes looked up at her, pondering. ''Why are you weeping?''

Myrcella looked down at the innocence that was her sweet brother, and she couldn't help but smile sadly, ''Because of Lord Arryn… It saddens me very deeply that he had to leave us this early.'' She chastely brushed away the fallen tears on her sore chin with her cold hands, before she reached out her slender arm and gently wrapped it around Tommen's small frame, her green eyes locking with his, ''Have you sent him a prayer, brother?''

Tommen's round face twisted in a grimace, troubled. ''I tried before… but I found it very hard to find something to say.'' He shrugged his shoulders sadly, eyes adverting from hers as he looked down at his feet instead. ''I did not know him as well as you did, Myrcella.''

''I did not know him as well as I wished I had, either…'' said Myrcella. ''But I do remember that he loved us as his own children, and spent as much time with us as he could while being a faithful and loyal Hand to Father.'' Myrcella's full lips suddenly tugged up in a timid smile. ''It was such a long time ago, I don't know how old I could have been - mayhaps nine or ten namedays - but I do remember that you were only but a little child with not much memory at all and Joffrey were young as well.'' Myrcella's fingers quickly found Tommen's and she intertwined them together, while she watched how his green eyes curiously listened to her every word. ''Well, I remember that we begged Father day and night to let us see Highgarden, as we all were very excited to do so after we heard one of the Tyrell's knights brag to us about the beautiful land at one of Father's feasts… I had never been so excited about anything at that time, and I listened so intensely as he talked of flowers and singers and pipers and fiddlers and the birds and the fruits. Joffrey and I and you at my hip all walked to Father and begged him to let us leave, but he would have none of it. ''_Seven Hells… Highgarden!_' I remember that he bellowed when we asked him for what must have been the hundred time that day. ''_Are you mad, children? Gods be good, why would you want to go there!_'''

''Gods, I was so sad when he didn't give us permission, and so certain that the sight of Highgarden would only remain in my dreams… But then just as we were to leave, Lord Arryn quickly stood up and told Father that he could take us all there, but only for a short time. It was almost laughable, the way we all perked up at those words and found ourselves at our knees begging for Father's consent. He looked weary, as he always does, but he trusted Lord Arryn enough to let him leave with us.'' Myrcella inhaled, as if in a haze. ''Oh, Highgarden was truly a beauty, Tommen... Everything was _magical_. It was just as the knight had told us, the birds were so beautiful and they sang the most dazzling songs, and I remember believing that the singers learned from the birds when they played their harps at the feast. The people were wonderful, as well. Lady Margaery was so nice to us, and she enjoyed swimming in the sea as well. Her brother Loras was often with us too, and although their brother Garlan was not there; their eldest brother Willas was. It was he who gave me that beautiful necklace I wore at the feast last moon, the one you told me was so beautiful, do you remember?'' As Myrcella saw Tommen shook his head in sadness, she squeezed his hand in hers again. ''It is nothing to be sad over, sweet brother… You were there, I do remember that. You looked so happy, and Lord Arryn carried you around at his hip the whole day.''

Tommen smiled, ''I wished I had thanked him for that. But I remember nothing… no Highgarden… no Lord Arryn…''

''Well, that's what you should pray for, I think.'' Her hand gave his a squeeze again. ''Thank him for taking us to Highgarden that day, and for being like a Father to us. He _did_ protect us, Tommen, and the way we did not notice that was only but proof of how much he truly did do so, and loved us, and cared for us.''

''I remember that he was very friendly,'' Tommen said, green eyes innocent. ''Still, I wished that I had told him how grateful I truly am for him when I saw him the last time a few days before… But instead all I did was answer his question with a stupid answer.''

''You spoke with Lord Arryn a few days ago?'' Myrcella's eyebrows furrowed in wonder, remembering that she had not even as much as seen him in King's Landing for the last two weeks. ''What did he ask you, Tommen?''

''He asked me where I could find you.'' Tommen replied, not seeming to understand how Myrcella's heart twisted painfully at his words, dread filling her every sense. ''But I did not know where you were so I told him nothing more than that. It was the day you spent with Mother, so you were not even that far away. At least I could have looked for you with him, or asked Ser Arys or Ser Barristan where you were so that I could lead you to him, I am certain Mother wouldn't have minded… and he looked so desperate in finding you.'' Tommen bit his bottom-lip as if in pain. ''Please, Myrcella, do not be angry with me. I did not know he would fall ill; and Ser Pounce was hungry so I had in mind to give him some milk…'' Her brother looked up at her with sad, green eyes. ''I am so sorry, Myrcella. If I had known-''

''I am not angry with you, dear brother.'' Myrcella hushed him gently. ''Yet, I do need to know. Did Lord Arryn tell you what he were to tell me, or give any sign of what it might have been?'' _It was only but a mere days before he died, and he was in such a haste to find me. It must have meant something. The words he carried must have been so feral, and it might even have been those words that made death come for his so suddenly._

Tommen looked troubled, and his green eyes narrowed as he tried to remember, ''He… He…'' He let out a sigh in sadness and defeat, ''I do not know, Myrcella. I don't think he said anything rather than that he meant to talk to you alone.''

Myrcella's green eyes grew blank, ''Oh…''

Everything seemed to sway around her, and although she knew that she remained just as before, everything had changed as if in a nightmare. Myrcella looked down at Lord Arryn again, pale and shallow and lifeless, and she felt her heart pound faster against her chest. _He knew something_, Myrcella found herself saying inside of her head, no more but a faint whisper, afraid of even saying it in her head. _He knew something and meant to tell me_. Myrcella started to wonder what had happened if her mother hadn't taken her away that day to train needlework together, and if she had spent her day in her bedchamber instead… if he _had_ managed to speak with her as he had desired, if he _had_ told her what may have caused his death - would she be resting here beside him then, her skin just as white, her eyes just as closed, her chest just as still, her mind just as numb, would she be just as _dead_? A strong wave of nausea filled her, and her hands grew sweaty in Tommen's grasp as she was drowned by it. The air around her seemed to grow more obscure again, the smell of tears and death making her want to empty her stomach… or maybe faint, she was not certain. She swallowed hard. _If this what I am thinking is the truth, if it is not complete folly… then Lord Arryn did not fall ill, but was murdered_. Myrcella knew that darkness would swallow her if she were to stay in this castle one second longer.

Her foot was unbearably heavy as she took one step back, her hand falling from Tommen's grip. She released a strangled breath into the silenced air, and before she knew what she was doing; she quickly turned around from Lord Arryn's body, gathered her golden-red gown with hurried hands, and fled down the path that would lead her out from the Great Sept of Baelor. Her golden waves of hair tumbled down from her shoulders when the air whipped them back, and her emerald eyes filled with burning tears once more. She did not know what went through her mind as she ran with quick feet. _You are such a fool_, she knew though, _do you truly believe that you can be alone? A princess can never be alone. _Still she knew that she could be quick and get a few moments of silence before Ser Arys or Ser Barristan or - Gods, have mercy. He would be so angry with her for running away without as much as a word, - Uncle Jaime would run after her.

The sun shone down on her as soon as she ran out from the mighty and beautiful sept. There were not even a cloud upon the pale, blue sky, and the brightening sun was almost blinding her eyes as she found herself staring at it. The air around her was somehow clean and slightly cold, and nothing had ever felt better than when she breathed it in with desperate inhales. The heat bounced off the streets, and caused a mirage of wavering images to her gawking eyes. In the distance, Myrcella could see a dog with brown fur and brown eyes standing, his tongue hanging out so far it was nearly comical in an effort to keep cool while his master worked away at his side.

It somehow made Myrcella want to smile, or release that pleasant noise that she always did whenever she saw a sweet dog or a pretty babe… but she found it impossible to even try now. Nothing stirred this day it seemed, no birds, no people. The sun beat down like a furnace with no breeze to lighten its fiery breath, and Myrcella found herself closing her eyes to try to imagine being in the sea with Uncle Jaime now instead of being so filled with sorrow. The golden-haired princess could not feel it, but she could see it… The water glistening with the reflection of the sun shining down on it, bouncing off in every possible direction like a beautiful crystal. Her breath quivered again, and she prayed to be there and not here, to be happy and not sad, to get a taste of salt-water and not a feral knowledge.

Myrcella closed her eyes in defeat as she heard running footsteps approaching her from behind, and she could not help but quicken her steps slightly as she walked down the pale stairs in desire of returning to her bedchamber. The quick sound of _thump, thump, thump_ was heard until Myrcella could feel a presence right behind her. She felt her stomach clench in pain, for she wanted to speak with no one; she only desired to be left alone for a moment. It was not before she had reached the last remaining step that she felt a strong hand closing over her slender shoulder, and she felt her tummy knitting together again. Myrcella took a deep breath, before she turned around slowly, her skirts fluttering around her; looking at the intriguer with eyes red-rimmed and swollen and tired.

Much to her happiness and full relief, she found Ser Arys standing before her, his light-brown hair seeming even lighter in underneath the bright sun. Myrcella found herself inspecting the knight carefully, watching his plain face; sharp nose, strong jaw, thin lips. If it had not been for the white cloak representing the Kingsguard that hung around his broad shoulders; Myrcella would not have taken him for a knight. Yet he was one of the few ones under her father's guard that Myrcella found herself taking a liking to, for she knew that Ser Arys had been by her side countless of times through the long years, ever since she was but a little child, listening to her childish tales with interest in his eyes although he must have heard them a thousands of times, and letting her sing him songs although they did not make much sense to anyone's ears but a child's. She trusted this man with her life, and she felt guilt quickly fret on her when she found herself wishing for him to go away. _It is cruel of me to tell him to leave me alone_, she knew, _and I cannot be cruel. Not to him_.

''My princess,'' Ser Arys' brown eyes were warm and tender. ''It is a dangerous thing to leave without an eye to watch you and keep you from harm.''

''I am in no need of protection, ser,'' said Myrcella. ''My desire is to be alone, and alone I hope you'll let me be.''

''It was a terribly sorrowful surprise to all of us when we heard of Lord Arryn, and wanting to mourn alone is very understandable.'' He told her, brown eyes gentle. ''But you must know me well enough to know that I will not permit my princess to go unprotected.''

Myrcella looked up at him, green eyes softening. ''Even if your princess were to command it?''

Ser Arys nodded, ''Even so… I fear I have grown to care too much for her to let her blindly stumble through danger at her own hand.''

Somehow, a weak smile placed itself on her lips at his warming words, ''Well then, good ser. Escort me to my bedchamber, if it pleases you.''

Together, they started to walk towards the Red Keep to return her to her bedchamber. Myrcella found herself enjoying Ser Arys' presence, although her mind still lingered with Lord Arryn… but the way they talked of everything and anything but the painful death somehow made it so much more bearable for her. Minutes later, they crossed the Guildhall of the Alchemists, and Myrcella knew that they had only but a few moments left until they were to return to the Red Keep, and she would be left in silence. _What am I to do when I finally return to my bedchamber_? Myrcella wondered. _All I can do now is think of questions I will never get answered. I will be lost._ Myrcella found herself half-listening to one of Ser Arys' tales, but in the end her cruel thoughts had taken her over and his voice had been drowned out by her own worries. So, when the older man was finished and looked at her with expected eyes; Myrcella let out a laugh in feigned humor, pretending that she had been listening to him and not her own voice that kept on haunting her. The two of them remained in silence after that, and the golden-haired princess' mind maneuvered to that evil place again. The question burned her, the knowledge burned her… everything _hurt_; and she was not certain if she was more a fool or a half-wit when she suddenly blurted out a question that should have remained unspoken,

''Did you speak with Lord Arryn… before?'' She heard herself asking him, voice hurried and stumbling.

''Well… No.'' Ser Arys told her, clearly baffled by her sudden question. ''But I did see him many times before he fell ill, I wager.''

Myrcella's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips again, her hand opening and closing. ''Did he look to _do_ anything... different, from what he used to do, as if to say...''

Ser Arys inspected her carefully, ''No, my princess. Not that I remember.'' He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, ''Why do you ask?''

_If only I knew. _Myrcella shook her head, her pale waves of hair swaying around her face ''Nothing of importance, I promise. ''

''_My princess!_'' A strange voice suddenly called out from behind them. ''_Princess Myrcella_!''

The golden-haired girl quickly turned around towards the voice that had called her name, and she felt Ser Arys do the same, quick as a snake might have been. She listened for the noise again, feeling as if she knew the voice from long back, but could not quite see the face for it. Instead she looked to where she believed the shout had emerged from, and she squinted her green eyes to see better. The heat still bounced off the streets, causing a mirage of wavering images; so to see whom it had been to name her was a very hard task, indeed. She felt Ser Arys bristle beside her, his hands quickly gripping the hilt of his shimmering sword as if he believed he might have to use it for some unspoken reason. Myrcella's legs grew weak, and she half-wondered if she should just simply ask Ser Arys to escort her to her bedchamber instead of looking around for the voice.

She was still pondering what to do next when a sudden cold wind breezed against her, and a loose strand of her golden hair stirred against her pale skin. And then out of nowhere, she heard the sound of boots scraping the stones on the ground mere inches away from where she and Ser Arys were standing; and Myrcella's eyes quickly flickered from her knight to where she had looked before. It was still terribly hard to see anything as the heat played their mocking dance before their eyes and made them weak and blurred… but it was not before long that a dark shadow slowly started to approach them from the wavering heat, moving hauntingly with its slender form. Myrcella could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she watched the shadow come closer, the fear of Lord Arryn's death bringing her to the edge of sanity. She took a step closer to Ser Arys, swallowing hard as her green eyes followed the shadow. _May it be that shadow that murdered Lord Arryn?_ Myrcella found herself wondering. _It can be after me now, believing that Lord Arryn succeeded in telling me the perilous words_. The shadow kept on coming closer through the dancing heat the sun had created, and closer, and closer, and closer until… Lord Baelish. Myrcella was not certain if she wanted to weep or laugh in relief.

Lord Baelish approached them with graceful steps. Myrcella inspected him quietly as he came closer, her heart pounding and her mind aching. His lean and slender frame was clothed in a dark, thin cloak and a brown jerkin, with black breeches. The older man had gray-green eyes, and a small pointed beard on his chin, and threads of grey running through his black hair. Although Myrcella could not deny that he was a handsome man, Lord Baelish looked so _haunted_… he had done so until she could last remember. Also, he was all too witty for Myrcella to even understand what he was speaking of half of the time. She always found herself only being capable of nodding and smiling whenever she spoke with him. Now though, the sight of him getting reborn from that dark shadow that had made her want to weep only mere seconds before; made her more delighted to see him than she had ever believed possible. Before long, Lord Baelish finally stood before them, dark eyes watching her.

''My princess,'' He greeted her, thin lips curling up.

''Princess Myrcella wants to return to her bedchamber, and I intend doing as she pleases.'' Ser Arys told him from beside her, voice dark and gloomy. ''So, if you would be on your way, _Littlefinger_, you won't cause a problem I'd be more than glad to get rid off.''

Lord Baelish's mouth twitched, ''Ah, Ser Arys.. It is truly a _delight _to cross paths with you again.'' He seemed to completely ignore the knight's warning words and instead showed his arrogance as he looked back at Myrcella, dark eyes burning her very soul. ''I came here to ask if you would be so kind to walk with me, my princess… There are a few _questions _I would like to ask you.'' He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to brush against his pointed beard, eyes searching her face carefully. ''I could escort you to your bedchamber as I am already on my way to the Red Keep... of course if Your Grace would have me.''

Myrcella's lips parted in wonder. _Questions_. He must know what Lord Arryn were to tell her. The golden-haired princess had heard of all his little birds around King's Landing and even further away than that, people whispering their secrets in his ears. Yes… he _must_ know. Myrcella swallowed thickly, green eyes staring back at the older man; and she wondered if he could see the secret that she had held hidden beneath her skin, beneath her very soul. She knew that Lord Baelish had spent a lot of time with Lord Arryn… yet Lord Baelish was not well known for his loyalty, nor for keeping secrets. It does not matter, does it? Myrcella thought to herself as she looked to the side to see Ser Arys looking at the man with burning eyes, hatred for him easy to witness. _If he holds the secret I seek, he could save me from the dark pit I am certain I will fall into_. Myrcella clasped her hands in front of her to prevent them from showing the two men how much she was trembling in fright, and she looked at Lord Baelish with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster.

''If it please my lord,'' she said. ''It would gladden me greatly to do as so finely asked.''

Ser Arys flared at Lord Baelish grin, ''My princess-''

Myrcella turned to him and settled her hand over his clothed arm in reassurance, her green eyes gentle. ''Do not fret, good ser. I am fine.''

She could see in his eyes that he did not trust the man in front of them, tongue bumping over a protest, ''At least let me walk behind you, my princess.''

Myrcella smiled, ''If that is what you want, I will not deny you.''

With those last words, the golden-haired princess turned towards Lord Baelish. She watched as he exchanged his arm to her, and she gladly took it, thankful for once again being able to hide how much her hands were shaking in anguish. They instantly started to walk down the warm path that would in time lead them to the Red Keep, Ser Arys walking closely behind them, brown eyes watching their every step and every breath warily. Myrcella felt her heart flutter at the way he was so protective over her, and although she had seen that he had not wanted to obey her wishes; she was very thankful that he listened to her and not refused her like Uncle Jaime often did. _Jaime would not even have let me speak one word to Lord Baelish_, Myrcella knew, remembering the way Uncle Jaime's green eyes could make any man run the other way. _He would have most likely only grabbed my arm and made me return to my bedchamber without my answers._ Now though, as they passed a few small children playing in the dusty streets, their laughter ringing lightly and their smiles big and bright; Myrcella found herself looking back at Lord Baelish who was already staring at her with those, oh so, knowing eyes.

Her hand tightened around his arm, anxious. ''So, Lord Baelish… You desired to ask me something.''

''Oh, yes.'' The man beside her nodded, steps still so graceful and long. ''It is in my belief that our Lord Arryn, the gods have mercy on his soul, in his last few days… _sought_ you,'' His dark eyes burned her, ''Is that true, my princess?''

_Is that what the birds are whispering in his ears? If so they must be better singers than I believed. _Myrcella's stomach swirled painfully, ''I do not know, my lord… I had no chance to speak with him myself before he took ill.''

Lord Baelish nodded thoughtfully, every word of hers taking in. ''I see, my princess. When were the last time you spoke with him?''

_It feels like he is as clueless as I am about Lord Arryn's death, and yet believes that it was more than a common death as well. _''It was two weeks ago, mayhaps.'' Myrcella told him, thinking hard. ''He was in Father's study, and we briefly spoke before he had to leave for his duty.''

''What did you speak of then?'' Lord Baelish asked.

Myrcella bit her bottom-lip, ''Nothing of importance, my lord. He asked me how I was feeling and if I had learned all the Houses of The Seven Kingdoms yet.''

Lord Baelish seemed to perk up at that, dark eyes curious. ''Why would he be asking such a question, my princess?''

Her lips erupted into a faint smile at the memory. ''Lord Arryn knew how much I loathed such lessons, and how my head always despised the idea of remembering all the names and sigils and sayings. I have done so since I was but a child, and he always found it amusing when I looked so sour after every lesson.''

Hope instantly faded from Lord Baelish's eyes, ''It truly is a hard thing to remember it all.'' He smiled at her, gracefully. ''So, nothing more was said or done that day?''

_I am not that certain_. Myrcella looked at him with blank eyes, ''Nothing, my lord. If there was I would gladly tell you, I assure.''

Lord Baelish tightly smirked at her, as if he found her words laughable. ''Of course, my princess.''

They fell into silence for a short moment, and Myrcella's heart twisted in pain as she finally asked, ''Is there a reason behind your questions, my lord?''

''Oh, a reason there is, my sweet princess.'' Lord Baelish told her, voice both dark and light. ''And it is always those questions that can be very feral, I've learned.''

Myrcella swallowed hard. The anxiety that his words created coiled in her stomach, invisible hands clawing at her throat and choking her until it felt like nothing of hers was left but dust. _He knows_, Myrcella knew. It was as clear as day; his eyes, his words… he knew the truth, while Myrcella did not. The golden-haired princess could only but advert her eyes from his, her tummy knitting together again with the most horrid of aches. She walked stiffly from then on, feeling awfully grateful for Ser Arys who remained behind them both, brown eyes still watching them warily. All the way to the Red Keep she wondered what it was that Lord Baelish knew of Lord Arryn's death… but mayhaps he knew something even more feral than that. Myrcella truly tried to tell herself that she was a fool for believing so… and yet the feeling remained within her, for deep within her heart the apprehension that something dark and perilous would be set upon them all; from North to Dorne - had haunted her long before the death of Lord Arryn.

* * *

_The truth was, the princess was braver than her brother, and brighter and more confident as well.  
__Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing daunted her, not even Joffrey._

* * *

The council room had always been a wonder to Myrcella. For years and years and years to no end it had been somewhere she shouldn't be, or else she was certain that she would get awfully scolded at. Ever since she was but a child, it had always been there she had been sent whenever she had done naught… and Myrcella could sometimes still dream nightmares of those times. She remembered one pained memory precisely. She had been perhaps nine namedays, and she had seen a beautiful necklace in one of the shop windows while she had walked with Ser Barristan. They hadn't had time to buy it, though, and she had not been permitted to leave again to do so. Knowing that it would most likely be gone in morrow; she had walked down to the streets by herself... and been returned moments later in Uncle Jaime's angry arms, before she had been sent up to the council room to speak with her awaiting father. And _oh_, his blue eyes had been so dark, his voice so loud, his words driven with such fury… and she had never been more frightened in her life at that time. Her father had even been more furious than Uncle Jaime, who had grabbed her slender arm harshly when he had caught her walking up the Hook at the foot of Aegon's High Hill and almost _dragged _her back to the Red Keep while cursing how foolish she had been and how long he had looked for her, frightened of her hurt.

Yes… _that's _what this room was filled with, pained memories she would much rather forget than relive again like she did in her nightmares… it was enough to do so there, was it not? Yet that was not the only reason that this room made her stomach clench painfully. It was also a room full of secrets and duty, where important men huddled over and made decisions that could mean life and death, and if that was not wicked Myrcella did not know what was. Her father most often spent his presence here… although people said that it was no more than a lie and that he was at those inns instead - she would not speak of them, nor what they said he was doing there either - but Myrcella would not believe them when they spoke such, and it instead felt like _this_ room had robbed her of her father - and it was also that thought that made her despise this room so much. The truth, though, was that Myrcella was not here because she had done something wrong, or disobeyed orders - _Gods, she would never do such a thing again_ - No, she was here because her father had asked for her presence… and her heart surged painfully inside her chest.

Myrcella walked into the council room with careful steps, her green eyes searching. It was a rather big room, with only a large oaken-table with seven chairs seated around it. Myrcella walked further into the large room, and she felt her heart twist at the sight before her as her eyes once again flickered to the table placed in the middle. Her brothers were already sitting in two of the chairs, as far away from each other as they possibly could come; Joff on one end while Tommen sat on the other. It made her sick to the stomach to see them being like that, although she knew that they could not be in each other's presence for more than a chaste moment before they would start arguing about whatever they possibly could. Instead of greeting them as a sister ought to, Myrcella walked towards the chair that was placed in the middle of the oaken-table, her steps graceful and timid. She did not look at them when she sat down, but instead looked elsewhere, trying to find someone else rather than her two brothers - for her head was in too great of a pain to hear their stupid remarks - and yet she heard their voices instantly stop arguing when she made the chair scrape the floor beneath her and create a _hiss_ noise.

Her green eyes flickered to the side when she heard a snicker, and they stopped at Joffrey. Her brother were clothed in a crimson wool jerkin with dark breeches, and his laces had the color of pure fire, almost making her eyes burn. His golden curls had been cut shorter than when she had last seen him the day before, and they now hung down a little further than to his shoulders, tumbling down in their beauty of lightness. His tall frame was sitting upon the chair lazily, his feet resting on the oaken-table before him. _If he is to sit like such a fool on the Iron Throne when it is his I am more than certain that people will laugh at him rather than bend their knees in his glory_. Her brother's eyes - that held the color of her own - were watching her with mild appeal, something between amusement and mockery flickering within them. Myrcella found herself pursing her lips at the sight of him, and she reached up her hands and brushed back her golden hair so her thick waves tumbled down to her lower-back elegantly. The princess straightened herself up in her chair, eyes challenging him silently to say something to mock her. _He is too arrogant for his own good_, Myrcella thought to herself as she saw his sly grin. _A prince ought not be so_.

''I saw you today at the sept… weeping like a little child.'' Joffrey's pouty lips curled up. ''Surely you must have understood how much of a fool you were. It was _embarrassing_.''

Myrcella's green eyes narrowed in anger. ''I am not a fool for weeping, Joff. Lord Arryn is _dead_, at least you must have brain enough to understand that.''

Joffrey rolled his eyes. ''I did not know the old man.''

Myrcella watched him through clueless eyes, ''Yes you did, Joff. You talked with him hundreds of times.''

Joffrey swatted away her words with a lazy flick of his wrist, ''Well then, yes I did.. but I do not have respect for men dying so gray and grim that the Northerners must awe them. I respect those who die in battle, die as _men_ and not cowards.''

Myrcella flared, ''Lord Arryn fostered Father and Lord Eddard Stark as his wards in the Vale of Arryn, and was like a second father to them. When King Aerys II Targaryen demanded that he turned them over to most likely murder them for no reason at all rather than to watch them burn; Lord Arryn raised his banners in revolt. Joff, he fought in the Battle of the Bells and the Battle of the Trident, and won with glory in his name! He was Father's Hand for years.'' Myrcella looked at her brother with fury, ''So do not dare say that he was a coward… for tell me, dear brother, what have _you _done?''

It was as if wildfire burned in Joffrey's eyes, ''Do not speak to me like that, you stupid _girl_! I will be your king one day!''

''Yes,'' Myrcella swallowed. ''But not this day.''

Joffrey breathed, his nostrils flaring, ''Weep over old dead men if it pleases you then, sister, make a folly of yourself. What do I care?''

''Weeping does not make one weak,'' she told him, confident. ''It's just a human vulnerability.''

''Girls and women and helpless children _weep_.'' Joffrey laughed coldly. ''Oh, yes. Tears mean weakness… and princes are not weak.''

Myrcella's hands closed and opened and closed again, ''That's not the truth, Joffrey, and you know it just as well as I do.''

Tommen, who had remained in silence, now spoke up in a quick voice, ''I agree with Myrcella.''

Joffrey's green eyes snapped to him, outraged. ''Of course you do… You are as much of a weak girl as her. Mayhaps you ought to wear Myrcella's skirts as well!'' Joffrey grinned at his younger brother, most cruelly. ''If you can fit in them, that is.''

Myrcella was just about to open her mouth to defend her youngest brother, but was interrupted when the heavy doors to the council room opened again with a loud _thud_. All of their heads turned towards the noise, green eyes watching with surprise. Suddenly, their father and mother both walked into the room chastely, her father step's loud and uncaring while her mother's were quiet and gracefully silent. As she heard her father let out a low groan just as her mother said something Myrcella did not comprehend - the golden-haired girl's green eyes quickly followed him as he approached his children without as much as a glimpse at any of them, and then settled down in the biggest chair with a second groan from his thick lips that must have been one from the pleasure of sitting down and escaping his queen wife's voice for a split second.

Myrcella swallowed hard at the sight before her. Her father's large frame was clothed in a golden wool jerkin, with a thin black cape hanging around his broad shoulders. He wore green gloves over his big and stubby hands that he settled upon the oaken-table, and a belt hugged him around his stomach so tight that Myrcella could see his tummy sticking out underneath and over the black belt. His dark hair and his gruff beard were greasy after not having washed it for a longer time - and Myrcella quickly understood that he had not even dressed himself for Lord Arryn's funeral. _He must be so heartbroken_, Myrcella thought, sadness filling her. _He loved Lord Arryn as his father_.

Myrcella's eyes flickered to her side as she heard the chair beside her scrape the floor beneath, and she watched as her mother gracefully slid down upon it only a second later. Queen Cersei's blonde hair was pinned up in a delicate style, golden and silver jewels settled into her shining, silken strands. Her slender frame was clothed in a strikingly beautiful dress, golden and red; _Lannister colors_. Her sleeves were long, and her pale skin glimmered underneath the sun's dim and weak rays, looking so soft and flawless, as if porcelain. She had always looked so appealing, her smiles so hauntingly graceful, her green eyes so bright and glimmering, her hair so shimmering. Her mother truly was the most beautiful woman ever lived… that is what everyone always said, both in the songs sung just for her and all those tales written of her beauty. _And yet they all say I look just like her_, Myrcella thought to herself. _How can I? _Still, her mother now wore a look of disdain as her emerald eyes were settled upon her husband, and it instantly made the glimmering beauty that surrounded her at all times slowly fade little by little. _She is much more beautiful when she smiles_, Myrcella knew, _but I do not remember the last time I saw her do so_.

Her mother's red lips pursed, anger clear. ''Well, Robert. Tell our children that _brilliant_ idea of yours. Tell them and see if they think of you as mad as I do.''

''Seven Hells, woman. Let me breathe a minute after your constant nagging!'' Her father breathed, big nostrils flaring. ''I will tell them.''

_I am not surprised by their hateful behavior towards each other, but by their words_. Myrcella licked her lips, ''What are you meant to tell us, Father?''

The King looked at his daughter, ''After Jon's sudden death I am in need of a new Hand, and there is only but one man I have left who can be that for me.''

Myrcella's heart thumped, for she knew the name of that man her father spoke of as soon as he was finished. _Eddard Stark_. Myrcella still remembered all those tales her father had told her of him and his closest friend Eddard Stark. He had countless times told her of all the battles they had fought side by side, both fighting for one woman and one woman alone, Lyanna Stark. Myrcella had heard rumors of Northerners, heard that they are frozen to the very core because of the cold weather that surrounds them day and night, summer and winter; people so grim and barbaric, feral and cruel. Yet when her father spoke of Lord Stark, he painted him as honorable… yes _grim_ and _strict_, but the best man her father had ever met. To Myrcella, the Northerners seemed too odd for her to even try and imagine one; for all she could think of were cruel barbaric men covered in snow, howling and snarling and biting like the wolves that represented them. Myrcella looked back at her mother, whose green eyes were filled with so much fury towards her father that it must burn him, and Myrcella knew what must have made her so angry. _She wishes for Uncle Jaime to become Hand_, it was not a horrible thought, but Myrcella knew that her father had never been fond of Jaime. No, Myrcella knew that her father needed someone he could trust with his life… and there was no one left for him but Lord Stark now.

Joffrey was the one to speak up next, voice filled with boredom. ''Then whom is to be your Hand now?''

King Robert wasted not a second, ''My friend Ned in Winterfell… That is my decision, and gods be damned, it _will_ happen.''

Queen Cersei hissed, ''It is _madness_, Robert! Jaime will be much greater than that old oaf!''

Her father's face turned red with fury, and he pointed a thick finger at her, ''Watch that tongue of yours, woman! I will not tell you once more.''

Myrcella swallowed thickly as silence filled the room again. Her father and mother were still staring daggers at each other, eyes burning with lingering anger and hatred that would never vanish nor fade. Joffrey was brushing away some dark dirt on his pretty jerkin, bored and burning with the desire to leave. It was no wonder that he did not care for Father's decision, all Joffrey seemed to want was to return to his bedchamber where he could be a little selfish brat by himself and do whatever his wicked mind desired to do. Tommen was looking at his feet, little and innocent and, oh, so sad. Myrcella herself were staring at her parents with blank eyes, her tummy tightening into a knot. _It does not matter, does it?_ Myrcella thought. _If Lord Stark is the man in Father's stories, then let him come here to King's Landing and be by Father's side… Why fight so horribly about something that will always grow into a much greater problem than it needs to be._ Myrcella fiddled with her fingers in sadness, body quivering.

Into the silence, Tommen's innocent voice suddenly spoke up next, ''I think it would be exciting so see a Northman.''

''_Hah_!'' Their father's loud laughter barked out, and he reached out and harshly clapped on Tommen's back, making the young child release an oomph sound. ''That's my son! Believe me, you will see a lot of those grim bastards when we finally arrive in Winterfell! _Ha!_''

Myrcella grew pale at his words, ''What? Father… Do you mean for _us _to travel North?''

Her father's blue eyes travelled to her, and he smiled widely. ''Of course, Myrcella! What did you think? I would like to see those wolves in King's Landing. _Hah_! They would not even arrive to the gate before they would melt away!''

''You cannot mean for _us _to travel there… to the north! It's…It's cold and awful there!'' Joffrey exclaimed, suddenly alert. ''Make _them_ come to _us_! You are the king, you can command them to do so and they'll have to obey your orders!''

The King's eyes narrowed at his oldest son, mouth pursing dangerously. ''You are as much of a fool as you look, my son. We will come to them, whatever you wishes it or not. If you are to be king one day you must learn courtesy, fool or not. You cannot only command and command, sometimes you must ask for what you wish.''

Joffrey only looked away, ashamed and angry.

Myrcella bit her bottom-lip, green eyes travelling from Joffrey to her father, ''When are we leaving then?''

The King smiled again, delighted. ''As soon as the sun rises in the morrow!'' He said. ''So, off with your lot... go and pack all your belongings until then!''

_Gods have mercy_, Myrcella thought to herself as she rose stiffly from her chair to do as commanded. _Do not let the wolves be as feral as said to be._

* * *

''_Winterfell!?''_ Jadelyn exclaimed loudly, voice filled with wonder and surprise, ''That cold land far up in the North where the Starks lives with their heads down in the snow!?''

Myrcella found herself sitting on her bed, dressed in a fine, pale nightgown. Outside her window, the sun had started to go down, taking the warm light with it while leaving darkness and coldness in its place. Her whole body had grown numb, her eyes heavy and her mind thick with so many thoughts that she could no longer tell one from another. Her bedchamber had grown darker and darker with each passing minute, and Jadelyn had lit up a few candles that she had settled around the room. She found herself watch the flames for a split second, watching the fire dance and curl and eat away at the coldness that tormented her and gave her frail skin goosebumps. The big comb drew through her golden waves of hair soothingly again, making her emerald eyes close for a split second in peace and bliss. She had always loved it when someone played with her hair, even though Jadelyn now tried to sort out the tangles and knots that had been created under the day, tugging at it quite harshly to get it sorted out. Even so, it somehow calmed her, and it was exactly what she needed at this time. She was awfully grateful for Jadelyn, and she did not know what she would have done without her friend.

Jadelyn Stokeworth had been Myrcella's closest friends since she could remember, as she was only but one nameday older than Myrcella herself. With Jadelyn's House sworn to King's Landing; her family are more often in the capital than they are in the Crownlands. So, they grew closer and closer and closer until Jadelyn had wished to become Myrcella's handmaiden and remain in King's Landing so that she could remain by Myrcella's side at all times and live the life she had always wanted to live. Nothing more had gladdened the golden-haired princess, and she had begged and pleaded her father to let her closest friend stay… and with much nagging, King Robert had finally permitted Jadelyn to remain in King's Landing while her mother Lady Tanda, her father Lord Gyles, and her sister Lollys, who had wept and begged to stay in King's Landing as well - returned to the Crownlands. So, Jadelyn had been her handmaiden for four long years now… and Myrcella loved the girl as a true sister would. As Myrcella had only brothers; she had always enjoyed to have Jadelyn to talk to about boys and songs and tales and knights… much to Tommen's jealously.

Jadelyn had already been in her bedchamber when Myrcella returned after the news of Winterfell, folding her dresses after they had been washed. As soon as the golden-haired princess had stalked in and thrown her crimson cloak down on the ground in gloom - Jadelyn had understood that something had happened while she had been away. As a friend should, the dark-haired girl had quickly walked up to her before looking her deep in the eyes, forcing Myrcella to look upon her pretty face. For Jadelyn was indeed a pretty sight, with dark, long, curly hair and grey-blue eyes that always seemed so round; skin tanned, body slink, sweet freckles over her chins and sharp nose.. Jadelyn had then maneuvered Myrcella to sit down on the bed while she started to gingerly comb her hair… and it was then, when Myrcella had started to feel better and her heartbeat had evened out - that she told her handmaiden of Winterfell and that they were to travel there in the morrow. The thought was still strange to Myrcella, but she knew that it would happen the same. It had surprised Jadelyn at first, but she had recovered quickly enough and become just as positive as always. Jadelyn always saw good in things, no matter how dark they may seem; that was one of the many things that made her so unique and wonderful.

''Yes, _that _Winterfell…'' Myrcella's green eyes closed again. ''I have never journeyed north… I wonder if I even want to do so at all.''

''Oh, do not be like that, Myr…'' Jadelyn smiled, putting the brush down as Myrcella's golden hair was shimmering beautifully at last. ''It will be so great to see the north, to see the boys. Hmm, I do wonder how the boys are up there.'' Her dark eyebrows wiggled playfully, her grey-blue eyes filled with amusement. ''They must be very good at keeping girls warm, I wager. Don't you think so, Myra?''

Myrcella blushed pink, ''I doubt that, Jade. It would not be proper for me to…to… keep someone… _warm_.'' She felt the flushing heat creep up on her face, but she erupted into laughter nonetheless. ''Besides, I believe they have hard enough to keep themselves warm in that cold Winterfell.''

Jadelyn only grinned, ''But would it not be easier for two lovers to warm each other, huh?''

''_Stop it!_'' Myrcella laughed. ''Gods be good, I do not want some poor boy to feel Ser Jaime Lannister's wrath. ''

''Mayhaps the boy will fight him for your heart, for his little princess.'' Jadelyn smiled dreamily. ''And yet… What your knightly uncle does not know, does not hurt him.''

The golden-haired girl only shook her head, lips still smiling. ''You are so wicked, Jade. I will not wed a Northman… that is just absurd. Mother would never permit me to wed some cold barbarian and live my remaining days in the snow.''

Jadelyn kneeled down to her ear, grinning mischievously. ''You ought not sound so certain, Your Highness. The wolves are very… _fierce_ animals, and they may surprise you.''

Myrcella reached up and swatted at Jadelyn's arm, her face bright red, ''_Stop that_,'' she laughed. ''Do whatever you wish with those wolves, but leave me out of it, I beg of you.''

Jadelyn only laughed, freely and beautifully. ''As you wish, Myra.''

Jadelyn remained by her side two hours into the night, helping her fondle her dressed and grab other things she would need in Winterfell. They spoke in hushed voices; spoke of Winterfell, spoke of everything and nothing at the same time. They packed more things than Myrcella knew that she truly needed, but she would never have been so far away from King's Landing; and she knew that the one holding her carryall would curse her as they travelled. They packed her silk dresses, thin and beautiful and not fit for the north at all… and yet they were folded the same. Soon enough, the books were the only thing left, books that she knew Septa Eloise would force her to bring. But when Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn who sat down on her bed, her blue-grey eyes heavy and glossy, her frame doubled over - the golden-haired princess knew that her friend was much more tired than she had confessed before. Myrcella instantly felt guilt bloom in her heart. _She has helped me so much. _Myrcella walked closer to her friend before gently telling her that she needed no more help and that she was free to return to her own bedchamber. Jadelyn looked ready to protest, her tongue bumping over in protest at her words; but Myrcella only shook her head, her golden hair swaying around her face, and told her that she truly meant it. So, Jadelyn slowly stood up, weeks wobbling, smiling tiredly; and Myrcella's eyes followed her as she walked out from the chamber and closed her doors with a soft _thud_ in her leave.

The young princess released a deep breath, feeling the desire to sleep almost swallow her whole… but she knew that she had to pack down the last few books and then she could give into her dreams. So, the golden-haired girl started to walk towards her cabinet where she had laid the books upon. She quickly dragged the dark chair from the corner and settled it before the white-golden cabinet with exhausted arms, for she was all too short to reach the top of this mighty cabinet all by herself.

Myrcella carefully stepped up on the chair with shaking legs, and reached up her hand to graze her fingertips over the books that laid underneath a layer of dust after she had not needed them for over two weeks. She took down one by one, until she had three heavy books in her trembling embrace, and she quickly jumped down from the chair with a soft thud, and wiggled her way over to the bed where she let the three books fall down on the pale blankets with a pained groan slipping from her rosy lips. She took a deep breath, before she reached up her hand and brushed away a strand of her golden hair from her eyes.

The princess looked down at the books before she silently shook her head and moved over to her carryall. She carefully took the books one by one and placed it into the rest with her belongings. She tiredly read every title of the books as she took them into her hand. The first one was blue, with many pages although thin, and the title read, _Baratheons' Dynasty_. Myrcella dropped the book into her belongings. The other book was a green one, very thick, and the title read, _Westeros' Reign_. Myrcella dropped the book into her belongings as well, her green eyes burning with the desire to let sleep take her over. Still, the golden-haired princess reached for the third and remaining book, a purple one, and the thickest of them all, and the title read, _The Seven Kingdoms; Houses. Sigils. Sayings_. Myrcella's green eyes searched the book with gloom, and she let it drop to her belongings as well..

… but then her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she _understood_. She remembered the last day she had seen Lord Arryn clearer than she had ever before then, the way she had walked into her father's study in search for him but had found Lord Arryn there instead, and he had smiled at her so friendly. Her stomach dropped as she remembered his words, ''_I have a gift for you_,'' he had told her as they had been alone for the very last time, before he had turned around and then returned with a thick purple book in his arms. Myrcella remembered that she had stepped closer to him then, green eyes curious as she had read the title that had said, _The Seven Kingdoms; Houses. Sigils. Sayings_. She had glared at him playfully then. '_'I hate those lessons, my lord, you know so.'' _She had told him, her lips tugging up in a faint smile. She remembered that Lord Arryn had stepped even closer to her then, his grey hair looking white underneath the sun's glimmering rays.. his eyes burning her. He had given her the book then, handing it to her while his eyes held her captive, before he had reached up and cupped her face in his soft hands, and he had smiled, _oh_, so sadly. ''_I know so, my princess, but I believe this book will help you through blind times the same_.''

Myrcella's breaths grew heavy when she finally drifted back to reality, and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. With shaking hands, she carefully touched the purple book, frightened like a little girl, as if afraid that it may bite her fingers, and picked it up with her cold-sweaty hands. It felt awfully heavy in her hands, much heavier than it had felt mere seconds before. With a hand she quickly dusted away the dust that covered the book after being untouched for two weeks. _I did not even as much as open it_, Myrcella knew. _Septa Eloisa never held such a lesson after that… and I meant to use it for the first time when I truly had to_. Yet now… Myrcella felt her throat thickening in fright of what she would see in there. It could be nothing important… It could only be but a simple book; but what frightened Myrcella more was the thought that it may actually only be but a simple book. Only a gift out of friendliness. Myrcella closed her eyes, her fingers curling around the violet book's first page while she inhaled deeply… and opened it with one swift movement.

In the heavy air around her a letter came flying down to the floor, landing with not as much as a sound.

Myrcella's heart pounded faster than ever before as she carefully kneeled down to touch the pale letter with her fingertips, and then rose stiffly with it still in her hands. The princess took a deep and quivering breath, trying to keep herself calm and brave... but she did not know how such a thing could possibly be done at a time like this. She quickly licked her lips, closing her eyes for a second. She tightened her hands around the white letter, before slowly opened her eyes and cautiously turned the small paper around to see the black letters staring up at her with darkness, screaming at her to read them. The paper was trembling in her shaking hands, but she read the words nonetheless; heart heavy and her green eyes blurring with tears from feeling so terribly lost.

_Princess Myrcella_

_As I am writing this I fear for not only my life, but yours as well._

_I do not mean to frighten you, but I do not wish to see the darkness consume you as I fear it might do in time._

_These words are too perilous to write in a simple letter, but I know that danger is upon me, festering like a wound, and the time I have left is not protracted._

_You have a gentle heart unlike them, and a good nature, and I want you to break free from the chains that now cages you to a lie._

_They make you see what they want you to see, Myrcella, for the shadows are dancing around you, playing you blindly._

_I hope I will get a chance to speak with you before I fade, but if I do not, remember what stands here and carry it with you like a shield._

_Open your eyes when the white winds blow, for darkness surrounds you, and you mustn't trust anyone underneath the gold._

* * *

**_I hope you enjoyed the first chapter... Now, I'm not certain about this at all. So let me know what you guys think. It would definitely mean a lot! :*_**

**_» holdinghisheart_**


	2. Cold Winter's Song

**Oh, I'm so flattered and amazed by the response I've received on this story. Truthfully I didn't really think people would be so interested in reading a Myrcella/Robb fic, but I'm very surprised... and so overjoyed that I'm not the only one! Only on the _first_ chapter Regained have over 40+ followers, 20+ favorites and 10+ reviews! You guys are simply amazing, I'm so terribly grateful to all of you for reading. Now, on with the second chapter... just know how much I truly _do_ appreciate your support. Thank you so much again. **

**【** **Cold Winter's Song** **】**

* * *

_There's one thing that is certain in this world.  
_ _But surely this cannot be what you've learned.  
__For my family there is not one thing I would not do.  
Oh, you have no clue how much I've sacrificed for you_

* * *

The carriage that had carried them for such a long time now had grown colder, and seemed to only grow more freezing. It was quite a large carriage they were sitting in, spacious and perfect for travelling as far as they had… and had left, she feared. All around her, silken drapes of golden and crimson were hanging over the small windows, just as the fluffy and soft cushions they sat on and the small but very appealing oaken-table in front of them. Upon the modest table there were cakes and tea to be served, and Myrcella found herself reaching out for her cup to try and find a heat within the hot tea that steamed into the chilling air around them, hauntingly raising and curling around the winter winds. She took a small sip, enjoying the way it lightly burned her tongue with its heat… for she had been so cold for such a long time now, the burning chills carved into her very bones, and she wanted to be so wonderfully _warm _again. She dearly missed King's Landing as she heard the powerful wind whip outside again, missed the sun, missed the warmth, missed the sea. Instead of saying what her heart felt, Myrcella swallowed what was inside the little cup. The tea was surprisingly mellifluous against her tongue, and the sweet taste stayed within her mouth long after she reached down to settle the cup back on the table with a small and graceful _thud_.

All around Myrcella, her companions were chatting away, their voices light and loud. They had been doing that for quite some time now. Myrcella's green eyes looked up from her cup to inspect the people around her. As the carriage only fitted no more than eight people, a lot of the other ladies had been sent to sit in the second and third carriage (which were not even half as fancy and grand with its big sizes, nor golden-crimson furniture), and Queen Cersei herself had decided which people were sit with them. Beside her, Tommen was seated, dressed in a simple blue wool jerkin and white breeches. On her other side, Jadelyn was seated, her dark hair styled in an elegant braid that Myrcella had quietly asked if she could practice on her only moments before. Then there was her beautiful queen mother, with her emerald green eyes still filled with disdain and fury at travelling to Winterfell, and the ladies she had permitted to come in as well, Lady Melara and Lady Tandra and as well as Lady Lollys; who was Jadelyn's younger sister who had begged and pleaded to follow them to Winterfell. Myrcella had never really been fond of Lady Lollys - who was always very arrogant and mean without meaning to be so - but she had not been able to decline the little girl's pleading request and had instead asked her mother very sweetly to let her come as well.

Lady Melara had just started to tell all of them the latest court gossip when Myrcella reached out to take a lemon cake- her favorite kind - lazily and started to nibble at the sweetness as she looked out to the window with the desire to not listen to the women gossiping like a couple of fishwives. The sight before her made cold shivers creep up her spine in the most horrible of ways… everything was so _grey_. There were no flowers, no sun, no colorful birds flying from above, no nothing at all really… but coldness and rigid grass that died underneath the cold winter winds. Myrcella took a deep breath, feeling sadness fill her from within. The golden-haired princess knew that they did not have that long left before they would arrive in Winterfell, but she feared that the coldness would have killed them all by then, for the icy weather only burned her more and more the further time went, making her fingers red and her nose puffy and her green eyes glossy; and she knew that it would be even worse when they would finally approach the wolves. It was a mere week ago since they had passed Moat Cailin and had started to travel up the White Knife - a river that Father had told her would in time take them to Winterfell - and according to her beautiful Mother; they had only but a few days left if lucky.

Myrcella released a deep breath again, her head aching painfully with its unstoppable pounding. Everything had _changed_ inside of her head, and while Myrcella desperately tried to tell herself different; she knew that it was the truth in what she was feeling. The princess did not know what it was that had changed, she only knew that it had, so horridly. The words she had read upon that pale letter, they were still echoing through her haunted mind, driving her into a state of madness. Of course, she had - with trembling hands and tears streaming down her pale cheeks - instantly lit a fire and thrown the paper into the flames, pushing her cold-sweaty hands to her muffled lips to silent her cries as she watched the feral flames engulf Lord Arryn's deadly words. She had not wanted to burn his words, and she had thrice felt guilt bloom in her tummy like a wave of dread and panic and reached into the flames to save it only to hiss when the flames burned her frail skin… but she was no fool in that matter and had instead thrown it into the fire every time after the other, for she knew with all her heart that if someone would find the letter and read the words - danger would truly be upon her, and she would fall beneath the wrath of darkness that had taken Lord Arryn away. _But now I know that something is terribly amiss, for that's what he risked his life to tell me; that someone was playing me blindly and what he wanted me to do was open my eyes_.

But she truly wondered how she could open her eyes after only reading words that still lingered hidden behind a true meaning that remained unrelieved. She was not certain that she could do that, for she knew that she would have to try and seek the answer for herself, try to understand the darkness that was said to be dancing around her. Yet she knew what had happened to Lord Arryn when he had started to ask questions. _It is the ones with reasons behind them that are the most feral questions, I have learned_, Lord Baelish had told her as they had walked from Lord Arryn's funeral a moon ago… but his voice and those words had remained within her mind ever since then. Myrcella was truly gladdened that Lord Baelish had remained in King's Landing and not followed them to Winterfell. Myrcella did not fully know who the man was, nor what his wicked smiles and knowing, dark eyes meant; but she knew that she could trust no such man, not with the perilous words she kept within her heart. _Lord Arryn told me to trust no one underneath the gold_… Myrcella had long thought over that sentence he had written most hard, the letters more engraved into the frail paper than the others, except _open your eyes_, and _white winds_. _Lord Baelish is very rich, almost as rich as Grandfather Tywin; and he's the Master of Coins. It must be so, must mean the gold of wealth_. She did not trust the man they called Littlefinger, and would never do so until the last breath left her.

Fear remained in her heart, pinching and twisting. The more she fell into her thoughts of evil and goodness; the more lost she became to her surroundings, so much more distant with the ones she had once smiled and laughed and played with. It was such a foolish thing to do, to show doubt and fright. Myrcella could clearly see that some people noticed the way she kept her lips still and clamped shut together, her green eyes blank and blurred… not fond of speaking at all. She had always loved to talk, loved to smile and sing; and she could certainly understand that people understood that something had happened. Myrcella had heard whispers that said she had fallen ill, and some people said that she was her Mother's daughter and loathed the cold weather as much as her, while some people even said that she was frightened to be betrothed to a Northman. Myrcella only kept quiet and ignored the chanting voices of hearsay that lingered around her like a layer of dust that simply could not fade away… for truthfully it was much better for them to believe such stupid things than the truth of it all. _I pray that one of those birds that belongs to Littlefinger will hear their foolish believes_, Myrcella thought, _I hope. I hope. I hope_.

Yet Myrcella had instantly seen that Uncle Jaime hadn't believed the whispered hearsay the slightest, and she had felt his burning gaze upon her for weeks to no end, worried and terribly smothering; and although she prayed for him to look away, it was most likely that she would feel his staring eyes until the very end of their journeying. It had started a week into the journey, as she had seen him look at her through the carriage window when she had gloomily looked out of it while Jadelyn had practiced an elegant braid on her shining hair, and she had been, _oh so_, frightened that he would confront her upon the manner right then. She had never been able to lie to her uncle, for he had always been able to see through her green eyes - just like the ones he himself had - and he would always linger between fury and sadness when she lied to him, eyes filled with darkness that always had that touch of pain. _It hurt me too much to lie to him_, Myrcella knew._ Yet I cannot trust anyone but myself. Not anyone. Not even Jaime, the man I trust more than anyone in this life. _

So, when they had stayed at an inn halfway into their journey; she had released a gasp of both fright and surprise as a gloved hand had grabbed her slender arm and turned her around most quickly, her feet stumbling on the ground beneath her. She had been filled with nausea as soon as she had seen him stare back at her most clearly even though the night had consumed the sky and only darkness had remained in the air that surrounded them. With a pounding heart, the golden-haired princess had submitted when Jaime had started to drag her to a dark corner that made them invincible to the world around them, her mind trying to chastely find a white lie that could a truth, but not the one he sought. _''Tell me, Myrcella. What makes you go around with such a sad face?'' _He had asked her, voice worried and gentle. Myrcella had swallowed hard, eyes adverting from his; yet his gloved hand had caught her chin and forced her to meet his burning eyes, eyes that had told her that she could never take him as a fool with her lies. She had licked her lips then, _''I am only frightened of the cold, Uncle Jaime. I do not want to be left in the snow by you_.'' It had been a lie, and yet not. At that, Uncle Jaime had only grinned, white teeth glistening in the dark, while his eyes told Myrcella that he had not believed her words. ''_I would never allow the Starks to lay their filthy paws on you, sweetling. I will die before that happens, I promise you_.''

The golden-haired princess had absolute no doubt in her heart that Uncle Jaime would do everything for her, and even give his own life to keep her safe from harm… yet, what was it truly she needed saving from? Not even she knew that, how could Jaime possibly do so then? Myrcella knew that Jaime could not save her from this feral knowledge of hers, the way she knew that she and her family would most likely be betrayed by someone they trusted. _No_, there was no saving from Jaime, Myrcella knew that with a pained heart. Yet, she truly wondered why Lord Arryn had decided to tell _her._ Why not speak such terrible words to someone that could prevent such feral things to happen? Why not her Father, or Jaime who is such a gallant knight and could keep anyone save as his heart burned fiercely with protectiveness. The golden-haired girl would have given anything to know why Lord Arryn had decided to go down a path and deliver such a desolate letter to a foolish little princess who dreamt of love and marriage and boys with all of her heart. _He always saw me as such a little girl… He witnessed me grow up with Joffrey and Tommen, playing in the poodles of water; certainly he must have understood that I am only a child.. a child that can do nothing with the words he has written upon that letter, not even understand them_.

Myrcella felt her eyelids grew as heavy as her heart, her long eyelashes momentarily fluttering against her pale cheeks as they wanted to fall shut. Myrcella blinked, green eyes red and blurry. It had been a week ago since they had last stayed at an inn and she had been able to sleep in a bed (although it hadn't been more than a dirty one she had been forced to dust off before being able to possibly lay down on it without getting sick.) It was terribly painful to sleep in the carriage, although the cushions were as soft as pure silk, for her neck and body and everything had ached so brutally when she had accidentally fallen asleep with her head titled to the small window, which had made her cheek numb as its wintery frostiness had frozen her. After that, she forced herself to stay awake. When Uncle Jaime had seen their state in the carriage moments before, though, he had spoken to her father of staying at an inn as soon as possible. Her father had grunted angrily at that, and Myrcella had known that he would rather ride on without sleeping once so they would reach Winterfell much sooner, but after her mother had given him an accusing glare and shown him Tommen who almost wept out of tiredness; he had told them all that they would stay the night at an upcoming inn he had stayed at once before in his youth.

As it was like a navy dark blanket had covered the earth, its glittering in all the right places of beauty; Myrcella was almost certain that they were to stop soon enough to sleep. To prevent herself from falling asleep, her green eyes lazily started to inspect the company around her who were still chatting about things that truly had no appeal to her. Jadelyn's thin frame that had sat so gracefully straight beside her had slowly but surely started to crumble down, and her blue-grey eyes were red-rimmed and tired as well. She was fiddling with her fingers to keep awake, it seemed; two black strands of her dark hair had seemed to escape the beautiful braid, and framed her tired and very pretty face. Tommen had fallen asleep beside her, his round face pressed against her arm, and his stubby fingers curled around her thick gown as if afraid that she were to leave him. Lady Lollys, on Jadelyn's side, was biting her nails and looking nothing but bored, making Myrcella's stomach clench in disgust. The little girl was not pretty as her sister, but short and plump, with thin, brown hair and brown eyes that were too far away from each other. Myrcella's emerald eyes lastly travelled before her, and it was only her mother, Lady Tandra and Lady Melara that remained; speaking of crude hearsay they had heard.

''….The little babe was born last week, mayhaps, and Lady Kara still refuses to say who the father is… If you would ask _me_ I would say it was that man she was clinging and swooning over last year when she came to King's Landing for a brief visit with her lord brother, that one man who did not as much as look at her face. _Gods,_ Lady Kara has always been such a foolish little girl about such manners. Poor little girl believes that every man that glances her way wants to wed her. She does not understand how men's minds work, even how many times I have tried to tell her out of pure pity.'' Lady Tandra told them, shaking her head as she dusted her pink dress. ''_Well, Well_… It is no one's fault but her own. Now she has a bastard boy to tend and feed the rest of her living days, and the dream of marrying some handsome and highborn lord now has completely gone to waste. S_o_ sad, she must not even be able to look at that child of hers.''

Myrcella felt her heart clench at the lady's mean words, and she opened her mouth before truly thinking, ''Lady Kara may not regret her decisions the slightest.'' She told them, head raised as she stubbornly stared at Lady Tandra. ''She has a son now. How could a mother ever regret making her own son? It is not possible.''

Her queen mother looked at her with green, green, _green_ eyes, ''Myrcella, sweet… That _son _of hers will live his days working at some stable, or as a servant, or he'll even be sent to the Wall for stealing food that he could not afford because of his mother's weak decisions of living. He will have no one, no father, no sane mother, no siblings. _No one_. That boy will live a life in darkness, and he will wish that his mother had not spread her legs for that one man who should not even have shared bed with her at all… That's a very sad life, Myrcella, surely you must understand so.'' Her mother's voice was cold by fury because her daughter defend such a lady. ''Not everyone can live the life of a beautiful princess, my daughter, the best thing would be to remember that.''

''But why cannot that man wed Lady Kara then?'' Myrcella swallowed thickly, her tongue bumping over in protest. ''Surely he must have felt love for her to make a child with her.''

The golden-haired girl felt fury raise within her as the three ladies erupted into laughter at her innocent words. Moments later, her queen mother shook her head, lips curling up in a small smile of bitter amusement, her golden curls swaying in the chilling air around them. ''Sometimes I forget how young of a girl you truly are, Myrcella.''

Lady Melara - with her pale eyes - looked at Myrcella with a small and timid smile. ''Yes, a young girl you truly are… but you have grown so awfully much since I last saw you at Casterly Rock. It must have been years ago, though, for then you were not even ten namedays, I wager. How old are you now, my princess?''

Myrcella smiled at the older woman, but felt bitterness deep within her heart the same. ''I had my ten-and-four nameday last moon, my lady.''

''Oh, ten-and-four, _already_?'' Lady Melara exclaimed, head titling and her chestnut curls brushing against her right shoulder.

''Gods,'' Lady Tandra said, reaching out to grab her cup with bittersweet tea. ''It is no wonder that my skins starts wrinkling… Time just seems to fly past these days!''

''That time truly does…'' Her queen mother said, emerald eyes glimmering and shimmering when she looked back at her golden-haired daughter. ''It saddens me deeply to see her grow so much under such little time. She's almost a woman grown now.''

Myrcella smiled weakly back at her mother, but found no words to speak.

Lady Melara suddenly said, ''Oh, Your Grace. She looks just like you did at that very age, just as beautiful. You must be a very proud mother, I believe.''

_Those words must be very pleasant for mother to hear, for that is what everyone seems so fond in telling her_. Queen Cersei smiled, eyes finding her, ''She's even more beautiful, I wager.''

''When will she be married, though?'' Lady Lollys's pitch voice suddenly asked, voice filled with boredom. ''Father says no man ever wants to wed an old woman, princess or not.''

Myrcella's surprised eyes flickered to the small girl, heart pounding, throat burning. Jadelyn, whose whole body straightened at her sister's words, angrily hissed, ''_Lollys!_''

''It is no more than the truth the little one speaks,'' Queen Cersei smiled blankly, reason hidden beneath that tone of hers. ''The _painful_ truth, indeed… but the truth the same.''

Myrcella's could feel fear on her stomach, pinching and twining. _There is something in her eyes, something that tells me wicked and uncertain words is lingering upon her witty tongue, words I know I will rather have remain unspoken_, Myrcella thought to herself, heart beating too fast within her frail chest. _It feels as if there is something she is not saying, something she knows and decides not to tell me_. Myrcella licked her lips at the thought… her cold-sweaty fingers curling around her gown. She truly wondered if it was a wedding she was pondering about. Myrcella had flowered a year before, so she knew that the day when she would be shipped off to marry a man that may or may not be a good one - would come. Yet she had believed that she had had time, time to think and feel and dream… but the way her mother's eyes were burning her with hidden knowledge- and may that have been _fury_ she had seen a glimpse of - Myrcella chastely understood that she would be thrust into the her coming fate sooner than she had believed. _Were they not speaking a second later of how much of a child I was?_ Myrcella wondered with mocking humor. _Yet now they are speaking of a marriage_. The golden-haired princess wanted to shake her head at the very thought of leaving what she once called her home, madness filling her at the thought of leaving Tommen, leaving her Father, leaving Uncle Jaime.

Myrcella pursed her lips, eyeing her mother with frightened wonder. ''It feels as if you aren't telling me something, Mother.''

''Tell me, Myrcella. Do you truly want to know?'' Queen Cersei asked of her, golden curls shining. ''Or would you rather have your pretty smiles for Winterfell?''

_It must be to someone horrible if it is marriage she is truly speaking of_, she thought instantly, green eyes blurring with a layer of unshed tears. _Then it must be a man so horrible that it will make me weep, or else mother never would have looked at me with such pity, nor ever given me the chance of feeling a smile on my lips at Winterfell_. The golden-haired princess was not certain that she could do it, feel so horridly bad things inside her heart, things that made her feel so dark and hopeless and blind; first the death of Lord Arryn, and now the possible thought that her heart may belong to someone rather than herself. She would have to submit for certain if her father had found her a husband at this time, and do her duty with a sweet smile on her face even though she may feel sorrow deep in her heart - for that is all a princess truly could do. Myrcella wondered if her husband would be such a man that would strike her if she did naught, as she had seen her father do to her mother when he had drank too much ale and his breath reeked of it, his dark eyes glazed over and, _oh so_, hallow; only but a shell of the man she called Father. She wondered if it would be a husband that did not love _her_, but another woman he had lost, a husband blinded by the tragedy of love… just like her king father. _I am so frightened to wed a man like him_, she thought, grief in her heart. _As I am so terribly frightened to become my mother._

_It may not even be marriage she speaks of, but I do not want to know either way. _Myrcella looked down, suddenly a frightened child again. ''No, Mother. I would rather not know.''

Myrcella could feel Jadelyn gently place her hand over hers that rested shockingly in her lap in reassurance and warm comfort, but the fear in Myrcella's tummy never faded. She _did _gasp though, as the dazzling carriage suddenly halted completely in its chaste movement. Everyone of them were forcefully thrust forward, and Myrcella's eyes barely had time to comprehend before all of their cups of tea swept down the small oak-table with a shattering sound as they collided with the carriage's floor and broke into sharp pieces of porcelain. Lady Tandra, who had been holding her cup and was sipping on the bittersweet tea as the carriage suddenly stopped, yelped loudly as she was covered in the tea that stained her bright, blue gown. Tommen woke up quickly, his blurry eyes opening quicker than she had ever seen them do before, his fingers around Myrcella's dress startlingly tightening. Myrcella looked back at Lady Tandra, with her tall frame and blonde-grey hair and panicked expression, as she stood up abruptly and hissed in pain as the hot tea on her skin burned her and Lady Melara tried to help her. The young princess truly did try most desperately, trying to remember all those lessons of being courteous by Septa Eloise; but before she could help it she erupted into light laughter at the sight before her - just as Tommen and Jadelyn and Lady Lollys did the same a split moment after.

Myrcella could see Queen Cersei's eyes angrily look at them, silently scolding them for showing such little respect for such a highborn lady. Yet when Myrcella tried to recollect herself and stop the laughter that bubbled inside of her wonderfully nicely; all she could truly see was Lady Tandra jumping around the carriage while hissing and screaming and waddling while Lady Melara ran after her and tried to sooth her, and she truly did not know why such a thing would make her laugh so hard that tears welled in her eyes and fought to escape… but _gods_ it did, and it was so terribly hilarious that she started to squirm in her seat and brace herself against Jadelyn's shaking arms. Not even her mother's furious eyes could change the way it felt so fantastic to not feel pain for just a second, and it felt instead as if she took a breath of life, and regained something she had lost the moon before… a twinge of youthful happiness, to feel like the little child she _was_.

Out of nowhere, the golden carriage-door opened with a low _thud_, and Myrcella could see Uncle Jaime standing there, ''We have arrived at the inn His Grace spoke of-''

Her uncle's voice instantly faded into a confused silence as he was interrupted by the children's light laughter. Myrcella could barely see through her eyes, for they were glazed over with tears of amusement, but she did see Jaime eye them with pure wonder and curiosity. The golden-haired girl knew that they must be quite the sight. Myrcella was still bracing herself against Jadelyn, who was pressing her hands to her mouth to muffle her own laughter, and she had glistening tears running down her pale cheeks as Jaime's eyes found hers. Tommen was laughing as well, bright and free, and he stomped his feet against the floor to try and catch his lost breath. Lady Lollys had started to giggle beside Jadelyn, her small frame huddled over. They were all hysterical in their own humor, even after Lady Tandra's skin had soothed and all three women only stood and stared at them with disapproving eyes. Myrcella looked back at Jaime again, and she saw the silent question in his eyes; yet it only made her laugh much harder. His eyes then found the broken cups on the floor, before he caught sight of Lady Tandra's stained dress and her red-flustered face - and Myrcella watched him shake his head at them, a small smile forming on his lips.

With one last angry glimpse at all of them, her mother turned around and took Uncle Jaime's hand as he helped her down from the carriage. Myrcella chastely reached up her hands and wiped at her wet eyes, before she rose to her wobble feet with a recollecting breath. Lady Tandra and Lady Melara and Lady Lollys and Tommen and Jadelyn went out after her mother as well, and soon Myrcella was the only one left in the small - yet now very still and silent - carriage. So, the princess slowly made her way to the small opening that would lead her out into the dark night. It was terribly hard to walk, and it felt much rather like she was stepping on needles underneath her feet. Even though, she soon felt Uncle Jaime's hardened but soft hand gently claim her own. As Jaime often did - even when she was but a child at four namedays - she soon felt his strong arms wind around her slender middle and she was lift down to the hard and cold ground in one swift movement. She let out a small noise that sounded much like a laughter of glee, her stomach swirling. As Jaime lastly released her from his embrace, Myrcella looked up at him though heavy eyes.

Jaime shook his head at her, but smiled the same. ''Your mother will not be delighted with you for laughing at one of her closest friend when in pain.''

''But Uncle Jaime… You should have _seen _her! She was practically dancing around the carriage!'' Myrcella smiled, eyes glimmering in the darkness of the coming night. ''You would have laughed too! Shall I show you how she looked?''

Jaime looked at her expectedly while he raised his left eyebrow, and Myrcella released a deep breath of defeat before she nodded chastely, golden curls swaying around her pretty face, ''I understand, Uncle Jaime… I shall beg for Lady Tendra's forgiveness in the morrow, I promise.'' She looked up at him again, a faint and innocent smile dancing on her rosy lips. ''But for _now_ I will laugh at her in secret, and keep that memory in my heart forever.''

''I expect no less, sweetling.'' Uncle Jaime grinned, before his eyes flickered to something behind her. ''Now, let us find sleep for the night in that little shit-hole Robert calls an inn.''

The golden-haired princess smiled greatly at her uncle, and accepted his arm before he chastely turned them around. As Myrcella inspected her surroundings, she noticed that the dim sun that had only mere hours before lightened the day - although gloomily - very prettily and comforting; had now been replaced by myriad stars, which sweetly and elegantly dotted the dark, dark, _dark_ sky. It was gloomier than she had ever seen it, for even when the night fell upon them in King's Landing they could still feel the warmth of summer and daylight and see more than well through the darkened capital. Not in the north though, there was nothing but blackness here, she inspected with a dull mind. Her heart pounded in glee though, as her eyes flickered upwards and she got sight of a low, waning gibbous moon hovering tenuously in the night firmament, bestowing a very small dim light upon the land… and looking so hauntingly beautiful that she received the feeling that the north may not be as horrid as she had feared before. It was still terribly cold, though, a windy night with the swaying of trees that whistled and howled, a shivering sound that could be heard but not seen at all.

Myrcella's arm tightened around Uncle Jaime's arm, while her other hand carefully pulled up her green cloak and gingerly settled it over her golden head, feeling much better when it shielded her from the whipping wind. Before long, as predicted; a small inn soon appeared through the darkness of the night. _Oh Gods_, was Myrcella's first possible thought. _Mother will never approve_. The small inn was most clear the littlest wooden-house Myrcella had ever witnessed. It looked rather filthy, several windows cracked, and even small parts of the inn ruined. It looked so much like those haunted places Myrcella had heard frighteningly tails of, those when the floor boards creaked with the voices of thousands tutored souls and the shadows devoured even the brightest of lights. It was only those with royal and very highborn blood in their company that would be able to sleep in the little inn, Myrcella knew; so there were thousands of people that would remain outside in the dark night where the golden-haired princess saw muddy dogs waddling in search for food. Myrcella swallowed hard as they walked over to the opening of the small inn and witnessed four old men with fat bellies and greasy, thin hair standing outside it. Their dark eyes made it feel like there were hundreds of bugs within her skin, biting and burning her; and she adverted her eyes from them just as she saw their glances haltering at her chest, disgusting smirks on their wormy lips.

Sensing Uncle Jaime's anger beside her as he bristled, Myrcella tightened her hold on him again; and she drew them quickly into the dark inn. The most horrible of stenches reached her nose as they finally made it inside, and she could not help but screw her nose up in distaste. The inn seemed to be even smaller on the inside, and Myrcella felt her head grow heavy in the obscure air around her. Her green eyes flickered to the sight before her, and she witnessed that her father was speaking with the plump man behind the small oaken-board. Everyone looked to be angry for some unknown reason… for her father's body was strained and his round face red with rage, powerful hands fisted together at his sides. The man behind the counter glared up at her father, his ugly face showing no sign of fright. The people around them were quiet, listening curiously. Myrcella saw her mother look at the small, fat man with cool green eyes, yet it seemed not to be the inn that made her so furious, much to the golden-haired princess' surprise. Myrcella's stomach clenched unpleasantly, and she instinctively walked closer to them before finding herself standing beside Joffrey.

Even though her brother was two years younger than her, he was already taller than her, and she had to tilt her head up to see his pretty face. ''What is the bother?''

Joffrey looked down at her, thick lips frowning. ''The northern scourge says we're too many to stay, says he need more coins. Doesn't he know whom we are?''

''Joff, to him we are only but mere strangers; crown or not.'' The golden-haired princess told him.

''He is a foolish scourge then,'' Joffrey drawled, emerald eyes finding hers. ''Father should have his head for ever demanding more coins than he wants to give the prick.''

_Is it this boy that will one day sit upon the Iron Throne_? Myrcella looked away from her brother. ''You shouldn't say such things, Joff.''

''Say the truth?'' Joffrey asked, voice filled with arrogance. ''When _I _become king I will never let these things happen. I promise you that, sister.''

Myrcella wanted desperately to roll her eyes, but pursed her lips instead, ''I am more than certain that Father will make him submit to his wishes in a _courteous _manner.''

''_You're a bloody fool_!'' Her father suddenly raged, voice filled with rage as he suddenly struck down his large and strong fist upon the oaken-table and created a loud _thud _that made every man, woman and child that were fitted in the small inn - jump in fright and surprise. Myrcella looked at her father with wide eyes by the sudden movement. Her eyes found her father's for a split second, and she instantly felt her heart drop to her stomach lifelessly. Even though her father hid it very well, Myrcella could see that arrogantly delighted glimpse in his eyes just as clear as the bright daylight. _He is not even the slightest angry at the owner, but grateful… for this is what he truly desired and wished for_. Myrcella knew that her father could gladly sleep in the mud without being bothered, and she had been so foolishly confused when he had been so stubborned with the price. _He wants us to leave, not sleep away a night's journey_. It hurt Myrcella deeply to know that her father cared more about Winterfell than his own family's wealth… but that was the painful truth. He desired Winterfell now, nothing else. ''We'll leave you with no coins at all, you bloody _arse_.''

Queen Cersei strode forward, her powerful eyes piercing down her husband. ''_Robert,_ we must rest. The price changes nothing.''

Robert flared, ''Do not tell me what to do, woman.''

_Mother is no fool, and she knows your real reasons, Father_. Queen Cersei did not cower, ''Your precious Winterfell will just have to wait, my love.''

Robert's head turned to a dark-red color, ''The _fool_ only want to give us fifteen small chambers, and your goddamn company requires more than that! What would you have me do then?''

Myrcella quickly stepped forward, and she was not certain if it was the fear of spending a night in that awful, gruesome, uncomfortable _carriage_ again where her neck would once again ache and her whole body would turn sore in a jarring pain… or if it simply was the aching pain inside of her heart that was created by watching her father and mother argue with their eyes so hatefully watching one another… even though the reason to her accessions was blurred and uncleared to even herself; she found herself parting her lips and telling them, ''Joff, Tommen and I can share one bedchamber, then. We are siblings, _family_… and it would not be the first time we would sleep in the same chamber together. If we do so, and if Lady Jadelyn and Lady Lollys were to share one; everyone can sleep in a chamber of their own for the night.''

Her father watched her, blue eyes gloomily, and for a split second Myrcella was certain that he was to say something crude… but then a grin erupted on his flushed face; and he marched forward until he cupped her head in his strong hands and dropped a wet, sloppy kiss to her forehead, ''Ah, that's my bright daughter!'' He chanted loudly, voice filled with pride for his child. ''The brain in that pretty little head of yours is definitely not a gift you've gained from me, nor your mother! _Ha! Ha!_''

Myrcella couldn't help but smile at his words, feeling her heart being filled with a brightening sort of swelling pride. Her father very rarely spoke such words to her, no more than he showed affection to his children before his people… but he had, and _gods _she had never felt as much as a Baratheon than then. She could feel her stomach tingling in desire of smiling like a foolish little girl, eyes wanting so badly to find Uncle Jaime who always told her that her father was such a fool for not showing more love for his children and did not deserve Myrcella's consuming love and adoration. And although Myrcella many times had told herself that as well, she could help but feel a strange flick of desiring want to be the daughter he desires. _If I was the daughter he truly wants I would have black of hair and the Stark's grey eyes_, Myrcella had many times thought to herself, weeping. _If he were to truly love me like I wish he did; I would look just like Lyanna Stark, and not the __spitting__ imagine of Cersei Lannister_. Myrcella took a deep breath, feeling as if her heart was to burst into pieces. But when her father looked at her the way he did _now_… such thoughts seemed to fade into a dull nightmare that did not matter and she was instead filled with happiness.

With one last look at her, Robert turned around with his wide frame and looked around the small inn where his people were standing in silence, waiting for his command while some still were laughing at their king's joke. Myrcella's Father waddled over to them all, his voice loud as he finally exclaimed. ''Seven Hells, you heard your princess! _Move it!_''

Moments later, Myrcella found herself being lead into a small bedchamber with Joffrey and Tommen at her side. With one simple look at the room they would spend the night in, Myrcella felt anguish coil deep within her tummy. The old and dim bedchamber had only but a bed fitted into it; and no more than that. It was all built out of rotten wood, it seemed, and as Myrcella walked further into the room; she witnessed the thick layer of dust floating around inches high upon the floor. _It looks as if we are the first ones to step in here for centuries_, Myrcella thought to herself. _It feels as if the ghosts in the darkness have eaten those who dared to spend the night in here_. She quickly shook her head at the very thought, her eyes inspecting the room closer. The windows were cracked, but not completely shattered. The floor created a haunted creaking noise underneath her feet, and she felt the hair at the end of her neck quickly stand up in dread. There were glimmering cobwebs in the corners, and the princess found it awfully sad that it was the _cobwebs_ that was the most appealing sight in the darkness. _Gods have mercy_. She swallowed thickly, and swiftly turned around when she felt a warm arm on her slender shoulder.

Jaime looked down at her with worry, eyes darting between her and the forsaken room. ''I will guard your chamber all night. So if troubled, just call for me and I'll come quickly.''

Myrcella smiled gratefully, ''Thank you, Uncle Jaime.''

With that, the golden-haired knight turned around and left the room, and Myrcella watched after him until he had closed the heavy door behind him with a low _thud_ in his leave. Myrcella closed her eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath and bracing herself for what she knew was about to happen. As if on cue, Myrcella could hear Joffrey's annoying voice start picking on Tommen, who instantly got the powerful feeling to defend himself by saying something mean back, and a second later they were mimicking each other in defense and yelling and arguing like two little babes. Myrcella turned around and instantly stalked over to the tiny carryall - in which she had packed the things a young lady needed when sleeping - and she quickly drew out her white nightgown, the one with the long sleeves and the elegant knotting on the front. Knowing fully that Tommen and Joffrey were still arguing like the two children they were and paying no mind to anything rather than finding things to say to hurt one another; Myrcella eased herself out of her gown and dressed in her pale nightgown. After taking off the elegant pins that Jadelyn had put in her golden hair, and let let it tumble down to her lower-back in thick waves to hang freely; Myrcella turned towards her brothers, seeing that Tommen's green eyes had gone glossy and Joffrey's thick lips were snarled into a crude smirk.

Myrcella took a deep breath, ''How many times have I told you two that you mustn't fight every time in each other's presence?''

''He started it!'' Joffrey drawled in annoyance, eyes finding hers. ''Besides, it's _your_ fault, anyways. I have no desire in sharing a room with two childish _girls_.''

Her eyes narrowed to slits, ''Don't flatter yourself by thinking that we would rather share one with you instead of having one by ourselves, Joff.''

''Oh, wouldn't that be nice, Tommen?'' Joffrey chuckled coolly. ''Then you and Myrcella could try on dresses together and braid each other's hair while speaking of stupid _boys_!''

_It is not you we would speak of then, Joff_. Myrcella only shook her head, golden curls swaying. ''Let us just found sleep… The sun will rise any second now, and Father will want to ride as soon as it does. Uncle Jaime told me that Winterfell is only but two days away from us now, and Father wants to ride the remaining way without any stops. So this is the only sleep we'll get before we reach Winterfell.'' She started to walk towards the dusty bed, biting her lip. ''I'll sleep in the middle of you two. So, you do not even need to bother speaking with one another.''

Moments later, they settled down in the small bed, all of them ready for the night's sleep. Because the bed was so little - and was most likely made to only fit two people - her brothers both clung to her most desperately to prevent themselves from falling out and hit the cold and filthy floor. It somehow made Myrcella want to laugh, thinking of the way they always fought and argued and glared; and yet now were so tightly intwined in each other. She was tightly pressed between her two brother, one taller and the other smaller. Tommen buried his face in her neck and threw his stubby arm around her, not shy the slights of being close, while Joffrey only but dared to cling to her nightgown to prevent himself from tumbling out, while his slender leg carefully hooked around Myrcella's own. _It is not the first time we have done this… not the first time it feels as if we truly are a family_. Myrcella barely remembered when they had slept in the same bed as children, the time when Myrcella had only been but eight namedays and Joffrey six and little Tommen three. They had always gathered themselves in Myrcella's bedchamber to listen to each other's tails and stories and songs, and found themselves asleep not long there after. _That is how siblings ought to be with each other_, Myrcella thought to herself. _And once upon a time we were like that_.

''Myrcella?'' Tommen's voice suddenly asked, tongue heavy from exhaustion. ''How do you think Winterfell will be?''

Myrcella licked her lips, ''Cold… _Very_ cold. But Father says it's very beautiful as well.''

''If I won't get sight of a giant or a shadowcat I will demand us to leave the morrow after Father ask his stupid question to that old man.'' Joffrey declared, tired as well.

Myrcella smiled as if in a daze, ''Oh, I would love to see a wolf.''

Joffrey turned his head and looked at his sister with wonder, ''A _wolf?_ They are just stupid dogs… They say shadowcats can smell blood six _miles_ away!''

Myrcella rolled her eyes, ''Well, I've heard that shadowcats can only be seen beyond the Wall, and also in the Mountains of the Moon. So, I believe that the wish of seeing a wolf in the _wolfs_wood will be more likely to come true.''

''Wolves are boring…'' Joffrey drawled. ''Besides, you've already seen a wolf. At the latest tourney, at the shop.''

The golden-haired princess' nose scrunched up, ''Yes, a _murdered_ wolf! Gods, he had an arrow sticking through him and they were peeling his fur off as we were watching through the window. Uncle Jaime had to drag me away, it only made me so terribly sad. No, I want to see a_ living_ one.''

''It is the same thing.'' Joffrey said, rolling his green eyes. ''I'd rather see a dead wolf than a living one.''

Myrcella cuddled into her brothers' warm sides, watching Tommen sleeping soundly beside her, making her want to close her own eyes, ''That's just cruel, Joff…''

''Father will most certainly want to go hunting when we are in Winterfell, and he will take me with him, no doubt.'' Joffrey grinned down her, cruelly. ''I promise you, sweet sister. If we do so and I see a wolf running in the woods; I'll shoot one for you as a gift.''

_He is sincere, and that is what hurts my heart_. Myrcella only shook her head, closing her eyes. ''If you want to give me a gift you will not harm it.''

Joffrey shrugged, ''No matter, then… Your nameday was two moons ago, either way.''

Myrcella opened her eyes, looking at him harshly. ''Let us just sleep now, Joff… We have to rest for our journey to Winterfell, and you ought to save your strength for the cold.''

''_Stupid Winterfell_,'' Joffrey cursed at her words. ''S_tupid bloody Starks_,''

Myrcella couldn't help but smile, her voice teasing. ''Watch your tongue, sweet brother… The wolves are known to bite.''

Joffrey rolled his green eyes at his sister, his shining curls ticking Myrcella's pale cheek. ''If they bite me I'll kill them.''

_Gods have mercy on me, why did I not plead Father to let me share a room with Jeyne and her sister instead? I wonder if Lady Lolly's talk of marriage would pain me any more than this. Truly, I do wonder if it's harder to stand out with Joffrey than Lady Lollys, or the other way around._ She only smiled sweetly up at him, ''They have sharp teeth, I've heard rumors say.''

Joffrey chuckled coldly, sounding much like a child as he finally said most arrogantly, ''Nothing is sharper than my sword.''

_With that little needle-like sword that Father was so reluctant to give you on your last nameday, the one you wept for? _Instead, she shrugged, ''If you say so, brother.''

Wanting their ominous conservation to come to an end, Myrcella tossed and turned to make herself more comfortable in the dusty bed. When finally sated, Myrcella let her heavy eyes drop, sleep quickly creeping up on her. The golden-haired girl knew that she would only get but a few hours of peaceful sleep this night, for she already knew that the brightening sun would creep up all too soon and draw away the darkness from the consuming sky. And after that, they would all be on their way to the - even colder and harsher, she had heard the ladies say in the carriage - north; her father would make that very manner come true most certainly. _I truly hope that he finds what he seeks with the wolves_, Myrcella found herself thinking. _He is so desperate in arriving at Winterfell that it makes me believe that he hopes for Lyanna Stark to await him there when he arrives, as if she was not really dead but there all along_. That must be what he had always told himself, to make himself able to rule The Seven Kingdoms, and to prevent himself from following her into the darkness of death. Myrcella felt her heart squeeze in pain at the sincere believe that she knew were the truth; and the urge to weep coiled low in her stomach, making her green eyes burn with welling tears. _Let Winterfell have mercy upon as all_, _and let the Starks give Father a reason to live as they have already doomed him in the way of love._

* * *

_Nothing burns like the cold,  
and yet the flame sometimes seem all too bright._

* * *

She were walking down a path unknown, through a darkness filled with terrible terrors. Myrcella did not know where she was, nor where her feet were leading her… No, she felt defenseless to everything, even to herself. Every feeling she felt inside of her were both dark and light, cold and warm, expected and sudden. Her eyes seemed to be blurred by a layer of unshed tears, even though she had no reason to weep… yet when she brought up her fingertips and touched her face; she felt the salty tears staining her pale cheek. Because of the tears welling her emerald eyes, everything before her eyes was blurred, only wavering images that she could not see clear. It felt as if she were walking in a crypt… no sounds… no wind… no _nothing_ stirred but a perilous silence that threatened to consume the living. The feeling left her unsettled, and she walked further down the dark crypt all while not knowing what she was seeking, but feeling deep within her heart that there were _something_ she needed to see, needed to _understand_. But when she took one more step on the cold floor, a shattering noise suddenly echoed through the silent stone-walls, almost as if a mirror had broken into a thousands of pieces, and Myrcella felt her heart flutter at the sudden noise that pierced her mind as if a sharp dagger. Shaking with fright, she cautiously looked down to where her feet should have been; but saw nothing but red, red, _red_. She was standing in a pit of dark blood, thick and sticky; slowly starting to fill the dark crypt with its deathly color… and seeking to drown her whole.

Myrcella gasped sharply, suddenly a frightened child again. With a pounding heart that seemed to only grow weaker and weaker for every second passing by, Myrcella felt herself try to take a step away, trying to escape the blood that now reached up to her stomach, pressing the feral redness against her as if it was trying to break through her fair skin and sweep into her veins. The golden-haired princess looked around the dark crypt, and she wanted to cry in relief as she saw a small opening at the end of it… a white light that she wanted to reach so badly, a path for _freedom_. Yet when she tried to take a step through the blood around her, trying to swat away the darkness that pressed and curled and tightened around her frame; it seemed to start filling up the crypt even quicker, and had now flooded up to her chest.

She battled and trembled against it, but found it impossible to reach the light, and she knew she had lost the battle that she had meant to lose from the very beginning. Myrcella screamed, the blood around her having no mercy as it now flooded up to her slender neck, her golden hair now the color of sticky red. She screamed for Uncle Jaime. She screamed for her father. She screamed for Ser Arys. She even screamed for Joffrey and Tommen. Yet no one came to rescue her, and she let out a shaking cry when the slick blood finally drowned her whole, taking her down to where she could not breath, nor feel.

She closed her eyes tightly shut, trashing her arms to try and get away from it. It seemed to turn her skin both cold and warm as she tried to swim to the light again, as she remembered what Uncle Jaime had taught her. _I must win_, a whisper inside her head kept on chanting, _I cannot let the darkness defeat me_. Myrcella's whole body trembled, her lungs tightening with the desire to breath, her mind shattering, her heart clenching. Gods, she truly did try to fight it… tried to be her father daughter… tried to remember her words; _Ours Is The Fury_. Yet soon she felt herself growing weaker, and the thick blood around her pressed even closer to her, as if it tried to make her stop breathing, tried to drown her, tried to _destroy_ her. All too soon, she could feel her fingers - which she had curled into fists to try and stay strong - began weakening, and soon she lost the grip all together. _Silence. Destruction. Death. Defeat_. There was nothing left. She was gone, dead, vanished. But then, out of nowhere… she could feel a wintery cold wind whipping against her, her golden hair stirring against her pale skin - _and oh, how could a wind be felt underneath the blood?_ - and somehow Myrcella weakly managed to open her eyes. She had expected to see nothing but redness… the thick liquid of death that had taken her with it as well; but found something entirely else.

_Blue eyes_. Myrcella gasped, her eyes closing tightly shut again as she flung herself back in fright; and then before she knew it… she could feel herself landing on something wet, something that made her skin ache and tingle. Myrcella slowly opened her eyes again, frightened of the eyes being so near her own again. But when she suddenly opened them again; she was met by the blue sky instead… and she instantly drew in a deep breath through her mouth, feeling the clean and cold air seeping through her desperate body; saving her as she took a breath of life. Her whole body trembled, images still playing inside of her head of the blood and the blueness and the darkness and all the evil she had witnessed. She were breathing hard, grasping at her stomach and chest and neck to make herself certain that she was alive. She expected to see dark blood still staining her white nightgown, her golden hair, her pale skin… but her heart fluttered in pain as she looked just like always, shiningly fair and not even a small stain of dark blood upon her. _This cannot be real_, Myrcella kept on telling herself, _What is happening with me? I don't want this. I want Father, I want Mother, I want Uncle Jaime, I want Ser Arys, I want my brothers._

Moments later when she had calmed herself down, she carefully turned her head and looked around. She was in no crypt any longer, and for that she was more than grateful. No, she was in no darkness; quite the opposite surrounded her this time. Myrcella frighteningly reached out her hand and closed her trembling fingers around the whiteness that surrounded her so gracefully. _It is snow_, she understood as the wintery coldness of the snowflakes melted into her hand. _I am in the north._ Myrcella released an unwavering breath, her mind racing, her heart pounding. The pale sky illuminated her from where she was lying in the coldness that still seemed to comfort her into a sense of peace and safety. Yet she knew that she could not linger, somehow frightened that this beautiful place would - too - be filled with blood. So, Myrcella slowly rose from the freezing ground; her feet aching painfully as she did so. When she were finally standing on her feet, the young princess dusted away the snow from her pale nightgown - which was made of a very thin silk and yet saved her from the snow's coldness - and then cautiously looked around again, trying to find her way back to her family.

Her whole body halted though, as her green eyes landed on one of the most beautiful sights she had ever witnessed in her ten and four years of existence. It was a mighty tree that stood fully in its glory, thick and powerful. The tree was frozen by the cold weather, beautifully covered in snow and ice… glittering and glistening underneath the fair, blue sky's lighting. The tree's leaves were bright red, and not the red of blood, but the kind of color that were so bright and powerful… a color of beauty and not death. Still, it was not the leaves nor the frozen beauty of the tree that made her so bewitched… but rather the face that was covered into the tree, the auburn face that stared into her very soul. Myrcella's breaths grew weaker, and she slowly found herself walking closer to it, approaching it with inspecting steps. For she had no slippers or boots on; her feet were numb and red when she finally approached the tree and its hallow eyes which never left her. Myrcella cautiously reached her hand forward, most clearly bewitched. Closer and closer she drew; before she could carefully grazed the tree with her fingertips. Just as she came in contact with the haunted beauty of the tree, something suddenly came flying out from the face's opened mouth; and Myrcella cried out in both surprise and fright before she fell down to the snowy ground again, hitting her head painfully on the snowy ground beneath her.

_An eagle_, Myrcella finally saw as the bird's strong and mighty wings settled him on of the tree's many branches. She breathed out; _House Arryn, _without even acknowledging that she did so. Myrcella did not move from where she laid in the wintery, cold snow, but only looked up at the beautiful animal who stared down at her with blue, knowing eyes… _Lord Arryn's eyes_. Myrcella swallowed hard, her hands closing and opening and closing again underneath her pale white-gown's long sleeves. She wanted to scream at the eagle to give her the answer she sought, she wanted to know about everything that stood hidden in that letter he had written to her… but she found it almost laughable if she were to do so. _It is an eagle… only but an eagle. _Yet before she knew it, she heard something… a low voice deep within her, as if a whisper in her ear. _Open your eyes, Myrcella. Open your eyes when the white winds blow… Open your eyes. _Myrcella looked up at the eagle, whose blue eyes had now turned to a shade of green - _eyes just like mine_ - and before she could think something else the eagle suddenly - with a shriek that oozed of death - came at her, clawing at her skin and drawing blood while its sharp beak bit her eyes and lips… and Myrcella screamed.

''_Myra!_'' A familiar voice suddenly yelled, and the golden-haired princess was shaken like a doll. _''Myrcella, wake up!_''

The young princess opened her green eyes instantly, heart thumping dangerously, mouth dry like the sand at the beach, the taste of chopper blood upon her tongue. Startled, Myrcella looked around the golden-red carriage she travelled in. Jadelyn was staring at her worriedly, trying to find any sign of her hurt or sad or troubled. The young princess swallowed thickly, feeling the urge to weep almost eating her up wholly. _It was only a dream. I am here. I am here. _She was unbelievably warm because of the terror that stilled filled her heart and had settled deep within her core, the gown she was wearing now sticking to her pale skin most tightly because of the cold sweat that had formed. She quickly collected herself as she mindlessly told herself that it was only but a dream, and she chastely looked around the carriage as she tried to think of nothing more. _Everyone has nightmares, Myrcella. You are only human… You must stop being a foolish little girl who believes that every little thing has a meaning behind it. _Drawing a shaky breath, Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn who were still watching her with worry.

Her beautiful friend was dressed in a blue gown, and a silver-shining necklace hung at her throat and reached down to her chest, a necklace that had been carved into the sigil of House Stokeworth; the white lamb that maintained a goblet. Jadelyn's black locks of hair had been set up in a beautiful braid, and she looked very pretty, indeed; lips thin but very pink, cheeks slightly red by the cold, her sun-kissed skin still dark even though many people seemed to have grown paler ever since they travelled north. Not wanting her friend to worry, Myrcella gave her a small smile that told her that she was fine… before her eyes wandered to the other companions in the carriage. Her queen mother was staring at her as well, gloomy and distant; dressed in a dazzling, long gown that held the Lannister colors. Her long hair reached down to her lower-back, shining and glimmering; and the golden crown that were made as a stag were settled gallantly upon her head, making her even more beautiful. Lady Tandra and Lady Melara were speaking with each other quietly, both ladies pressed into light-pink dresses. Lady Lollys were dressed in a violet dress that was rather pretty, yet must have been Jadelyn's dress as it did not seem to fit her plump form the slightest. Tommen were still leaning against Myrcella, dressed in crimson… looking very pretty, as well.

Myrcella quickly looked out from the frozen window of the carriage; her green eyes wide as she witnessed the sight. All around them, beautiful snowflakes were falling from the grey sky… and the whole ground laid beneath a blanket of glories white. She felt her lips tug up faintly, watching something she had never witnessed before… _except in your dream_. The golden-haired princess shook her head, refusing to remember such a thing. Instead she listened to the whistling wind as it swept outside the carriage, and she could almost feel the chilling wind against her skin, feeling the goosebumps forming on her skin. Before she had fallen asleep, Uncle Jaime had informed them that they had ten hours before they were to arrive in Winterfell… but then it had not snowed. Yes, it had been awfully freezing, winds whipping, body shuddering; but it had not been such an appealing sight around her.

Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn who were still looking very worried for her, and the golden-haired girl smiled, ''I must have fallen asleep briefly…''

The dark-haired girl nodded, ''Myra, you have been asleep for more than ten hours!''

''_Have I?_'' Myrcella's lips parted in wonder, before she carefully touched her neck, a grimace on her face. ''That must be why my neck is hurting so painfully much…''

''That must be so. Not everyone can be as lucky as Tommen, I'm afraid.'' Jadelyn smiled, motioning to Tommen whose head rested on Myrcella's thighs, sleeping soundly.

Myrcella giggled, ''I dare not wake him up… He is much more pleasant when he sleeps.''

Out of nowhere, the heavy carriage-door opened with a low _thud_. Just as quick, Myrcella could feel the coldness that had most surprisingly managed to stay out of the carriage - quickly sweep into it, and Myrcella was engulfed by the north's raw coldness, making her shiver in its despair. Myrcella and Jadelyn instantly turned quiet at the sudden movement and feeling, and they both looked towards the small opening to see Uncle Jaime looking in. Her uncle was dressed in his simple armor once again, looking ever the handsome knight. His golden hair stirred against his muscular shoulders as the wintery wind whipped around him, and most likely against him. His pale skin had turned reddish from the cold's rawness; his nose pink and his green eyes glossy. He had gallant snowflakes in his fair hair, although they looked much rather like raindrops as they instantly melted. Her Uncle smiled widely when he greeted them, eyes flickering between all of them.

''We have arrived,'' he finally informed them, voice low but strong. ''We are riding up Winterfell's path right now… We should be there in only mere minutes, if not seconds.''

With that, Uncle Jaime closed the door again; and the carriage started moving again. Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn with wide eyes, feeling her stomach knitting together in nervousness. Most quickly, Myrcella peered out of the window again; and her lips parted in surprise at what could be seen. In the distant, a huge castle could be spotted, mighty towers that stood gracefully up in all of the north's glory… everything made by dark stones that looked very appealing, even from so far away. Upon the large and most beautiful towers; a glittering and shining blanket of white snow laid; and Myrcella felt her lips tug up in a smile of delight. _Gods_, she whispered to herself as her eyes continued inspecting the cold Winterfell. _It is even more beautiful than I imagined. It may even be more beautiful than King's Landing. _Before her, the path seemed to be slippery, and she found herself quietly muffling her giggles with her hand after watching several people almost falling upon the cold ground… including Joffrey, who rode mere inches before the carriage on his gallant, dark horse. Nonetheless, Myrcella could see that Winterfell had already opened their dark, large stone-ports for their arrival, and that the first of her father's knights had already begun pouring through it with her father's golden banners; the crowned stag upon a yellow background.

Myrcella looked back at Jadelyn, who was watching just as excitedly; and the golden-haired princess breathed, ''_Oh_, it's so beautiful!''

Jadelyn giggled, sated by her words. ''I told you so, did I not, my princess?''

Her mother bristled, eyes gloomy and somewhat angered. ''_Myrcella_! Do not look out of the window as if a little girl. Hold your composure. You are a princess. Not a child.''

Myrcella's tongue bumped over a protest, but she did as she was told anyway and sat down gracefully while gently shaking her youngest brother awake.

Mere seconds later, the carriage was drawn through Winterfell's mighty gates, and Myrcella felt her heart surge within her chest. She could hear nothing but the whipping wind that whistled and howled from the outside, and she became so eager to see what was happening outside the carriage - which seemed to have shrunken unbearably much under these split seconds of holding her breath - that her fingertips started to tingle with the desire to turn around towards the window and peer out again with wide and inspecting eyes. She could not though… Myrcella knew better than to displease her mother by not commanding her wishes and instead not listen to what ordered. Instead, she sat timidly down; green eyes flickering between her mother and Jadelyn and Tommen. They all kept quiet, silence engulfing the very air around them and leaving nothing but an awaiting desire. It gladdened Myrcella though, for she listened eagerly for any sign from the outside. She could hear people riding still, and before she knew it; the carriage halted unexpectedly, and Myrcella lunged forward; her golden hair whipping forward. She would have giggled at Tommen's high-pitched gasp… but she felt her heart beat unbelievably fast at the thought of the Northerners awaiting them outside. Myrcella licked her rosy lips, anxiously reaching up and brushing through her tangles of light-golden hair.

The young princess looked back at her mother, who was watching her with a curious stare; telling Myrcella instantly that she was not pleased with the way she seemed to have to collect herself for what was to come. Her eyes somehow made Myrcella want to advert her own, as if done something wrong. _I have not, though_, Myrcella knew. _I have always wanted people to like me, Mother… Must it be any different with the wolves, just because you do not like them yourself? _Myrcella looked away from Cersei, and instead met Jadelyn's grey-blue eyes. The young Stokeworth girl smiled at her, excited and brightly, and Myrcella found herself smiling back with the same touch of emotion. _I truly wonder how Winterfell will be_, Myrcella found herself thinking, heart thumping. _It is very beautiful, indeed. Yet beauty can be deathly, Mother told me so once when she had swallowed three goblets of Dornish Wine… It is only then that she can truly tell me such things, things that will forevermore drift through my mind_. Myrcella's hands had gone cold-sweaty, and she chastely reached down and brushed them against her pale-blue gown, her long dagged sleeves fluttering by the movement. She inhaled a deep breath, and felt curiosity fill her once again. The princess told herself to keep calm, to be brave, and to do as told… yet before she truly had comprehend it herself; she carefully felt herself leaning against the window again, her green eyes timidly peeking out from the beautifully frozen glass.

She witnessed dozen of people outside, clothed in big furs and coiled leather and gloves; all kneeled down in the snow. Myrcella breathed out into the cold air, eyes glued upon the Northerners. Much to her relief, they seemed not to be snarling and biting wolves… but they indeed looked grim and rigid. There were seven people lined furthest up, and Myrcella knew that they must be the Stark family. She could not see them, but could only see the image of auburn and black. Out of nowhere, the princess saw her father march forward… and then stop as he stood before one of the bent people. _Lord Eddard Stark, _Myrcella inspected with smothering curiosity. The Northman remained kneeled down before her father, and Robert only but stood there for a split second. _That is a very queer way to greet an old friend who has been greatly missed… Surely they must embrace each other._ With happiness in her heart, Myrcella suddenly saw her father motion with a gloved hand for Lord Eddard Stark to rise; as the Northman instantly did when given the command. Just as Lord Eddard Stark rose stiffly from the ground to look at her father; Myrcella watched as all the other people did as well, both his family and the common people behind them.

Myrcella did not have the chance to see the Stark's frozen faces though, for before she knew it; the carriage-door opened with a loud _thud_. She couldn't help but jump at the sudden movement, her green eyes turning to the opening to see Uncle Jaime once again, smiling widely at all of them with his, _oh so_, charming smile. Myrcella could barely contain her excitement, and she clenched her fingers together as she watched Uncle Jaime exchange his hand for Lady Lollys' and Lady Melaras' and her mothers' to help them down the carriage and find safety upon the snowy ground. As her uncle helped Tommen down from the golden-red carriage, Jadelyn looked back at Myrcella, and the golden-haired watched as her friend grinned at her with pale teeth and mouthed, ''_The boys, Myra!_'' Myrcella shook her head at her friend, her golden curls swaying lightly around her pale face by the movement; but a faint smile of amusement lit up her eyes the same. After that, the princess watched as Jadelyn accepted Uncle Jaime's gloved hand, and Myrcella drew herself closer to the lit-up opening. She could feel her heart flutter painfully within her chest, and if it was by eagerness or nervousness - she did not know. Even so, Uncle Jaime's chilling glove soon claimed her pale hand; and she smiled timidly down at him as he gently grabbed her waist - as if she were only but a feather's weight - and eased her down to the frozen ground most carefully. It was indeed very slippery on the ground, and Myrcella found herself grasping for Uncle Jaime's arm.

''_Ned, you goddamn bastard_!'' Her father's voice suddenly roared in laughter. ''Ah, It is good to see that frozen face of yours!''

Myrcella's green eyes instantly travelled to the event before her, and she couldn't help but smiled widely at the sight before her. With another roar of laughter, her father stepped forward and embraced the rigid man in front of him as if a long-lost brother, something the Northman seemed not to have expected at first but then hugged back just as eagerly. The golden-haired girl instantly inspected the man who embraced her father… remembering all those tales of war and battles and memories of him. _He looks like a man that has killed upon a battlefield_, Myrcella noted. _His eyes looks as if Valyrian __steel__… feral and invisible_. Lord Eddard Stark looked ever the Stark, looked just like the man her father had described to her in his daily tales of long-lost memories. He had a long face, a slender but muscular body and grey-piercing eyes. His hair reached down to his shoulders which were clothed with what looked like an animal's fur; shaggy and unkept, and the color of a raven's feather, just as the beard upon his white cheek, although it seemed to have beginning to grey. Just as Myrcella's father, Lord Eddard Stark looked to be in his mid-thirties. But somehow - even though Myrcella could never explain exactly why - the grim Northman seemed to remind her of her own father, or what her father _could _have been. _Yet Father never looks so cold_… _Angry, yes… But never so frozen_.

Lord Eddard Stark seemed to not know what to say, but before long he finally told her father, ''Your Grace. Winterfell is yours…''

Myrcella licked her lips, her green eyes finally travelling to the Northman's side. A lady stood beside him, a very beautiful one. _Lady Catelyn Tully. _With a sharp dread in her heart, Myrcella remembered Lady Lysa Arryn. _Gods, how could I have forgotten? They are sisters…_ Myrcella felt her stomach clench painfully, remembering that Lady Lysa had always frightened her so terribly. She had fled to the Vale of Arryn, though… because of _someone_; and Myrcella's heart ached awfully painful as she wondered if Lady Lysa might have written or spoken with her sister about her husband's sudden death. _She must have known something… and Lady Lysa has no one now. No one but family_. Myrcella looked back at Lady Stark with curious eyes, pondering. _What if she knows the answers I seek?_ Telling herself that she is causing nothing but pain while thinking so, Myrcella instead inspected Lady Catelyn Stark could clearly see the image of Lady Lysa in her features… but Lady Catelyn was much more beautiful than her sister. Truly, the two siblings were not much alike at all. While Lady Lysa was plump and short and had the coldest of eyes; her sister Lady Catelyn was slim and tall and fair. She was very dazzling, her long, auburn hair swaying down to her lower-back as it stirred in the wind's force. She had a sharp nose, pale skin, graceful frame, and thin lips. _The Tullys __are__ known for their beauty_. _It must be the truth then_.

With a small smile on her rosy lips, Myrcella looked to Lord Catelyn's side; and she felt her heart flutter instantly within her chest at the sight. A boy… a very _handsome_ boy was staring at her, blue eyes curiously settled upon her. As her eyes collided with his, though, Myrcella watched as the boy instantly adverted his eyes from hers; his face flushing bright red. Somehow, it made the golden-haired princess blush as well, green eyes leaving him, heart pounding wildly. Seconds later when she could breathe with ease again, Myrcella shyly and most carefully looked back at the boy again, seeing that he was now staring at his feet instead, his face still flushed in dread of being caught staring at her. Myrcella licked her lips, timidly inspecting him while feeling her face growing warmer and warmer. He was rather tall, but with a muscular body that made Myrcella certain that Jadelyn would speak of when they were alone. Myrcella felt her heart clench as she noticed what she was doing, yet she found it impossible to even try to look away from him. He was not looking at her anymore, though, as his blue eyes seemed to flicker anywhere _but _her… so there was no harm in cautiously inspecting him then. He was kissed by fire, she noticed, a beautiful color of dark brown that was touched by the faint reddish fire. His hair reached down to gently brush against his shoulders, and the golden-haired princess found herself swallow hard, her heart _thumping _and _thumping_ and _thumping_. He had such a lovely face, mayhaps one of the very few that had ever made her daydream as if a girl smitten.

Myrcella fiddled with her cold-sweaty fingers, emerald eyes still staring at the boy that could not be much older than herself with appeal. He was staring at his feet again, tall frame shifting from one foot to another. He was clothed in boiled leather, and dark breeches… and even though Myrcella had heard that the Northerner's clothing was very dull and boring; she found it very appealing and charming that they weren't so prettily dressed in linen and silk. Most suddenly, the boy's blue eyes suddenly were on her again; and Myrcella blushed again, ducking her head down and praying for her golden hair to prevent everyone from witnessing it. With a timid heart, Myrcella looked back at him again. _How can it be so hard to prevent my eyes to drift where I do not want them?_ Even so, their eyes collided again when she gave into her desires… and she could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears. Before she knew what she was doing and could prevent herself from acting as if a fool, the young princess felt herself sweetly smile at him; and she thought she may die when he swallowed hard before he - most shyly and nervously - smiled back at her… nodding his head towards her in a small greeting. A wonderful feeling curled low in her stomach, and she couldn't help but look down at her feet again as his eyes became too much for her, and she smiled as if in a haze, blushing pink again.

''Gods have mercy, you have not changed at all!'' Her father's loud voice exclaimed suddenly. ''_Here. Here_. Let me introduce my family.''

Myrcella quickly looked up at her father's words, and she swallowed hard before she chastely walked over to where Tommen and Joffrey and her mother stood. She quickly looked up at Uncle Jaime before doing so, barely noticing the disapproving look he gave her. Even so, Myrcella soon found herself standing beside Joffrey. Even though she desperately tried to prevent herself from doing so - _oh, she really did try_ - Myrcella felt her eyes flickering back to that boy once again, her stomach tingling powerfully every time she did so. She looked back at her father as he stood before them suddenly, his thick finger pointing to them as he spoke, ''This is my queen wife Cersei…'' He said, not as much as looking at her mother before he moved on with his thick finger and pointed at Tommen, who instantly adverted his eyes from all of them and looked down at his feet, clearly too shy. ''There's my youngest son; Tommen… Very smart, indeed.'' His gloved finger travelled further down, ''Here's my oldest son and the heir to my throne; Joffrey.'' Finally, he pointed at Myrcella; and the princess felt her heart swelling with pride and love as she saw her father's brightened smile. ''And here's my beautiful daughter Myrcella… The sweetest girl you'll ever meet, I assure you.''

Lord Stark instantly moved forward and kneeled down before Queen Cersei, gently taking her hand and pressing a feather-light kiss upon it. Her mother looked down at the Northman with emotionless eyes, gloomy and cruel; and Myrcella could clearly witness the strong and most powerful desire to leave within those poles of hers. Either Lord Stark did not notice her mother's crude behavior, or he pretended that he had not. Eddard Stark then moved towards Tommen, nodding his head in respect to the small prince. Myrcella smiled gingerly at her shy brother as he instantly started to fiddle with his stubby fingers at the showing attention, his pretty face turning a shade of pink out of embarrassment of being the center of attention for a split second. Even though, as learned; Tommen awkwardly bopped his head in respect, before looking back at Myrcella as if to see if done right; releasing a small sigh of relief as he saw his sister give him a wide smile and a small nod. Seconds later, Lord Stark slowly approached Joffrey, who were staring at his fingers for a moment before he acknowledged the man; and he only but gave a bored nod at Lord Stark. _You are such a noble prince_, _brother_. Finally, Lord Stark approached Myrcella, before gently taking her hand in his own and pressing a kiss to the back of it as well. Myrcella smiled down at him in greeting, mumbling a sweet, ''_my lord_,'' while curtsying for the older man, making her father snort loudly in pure amusement… while Lord Stark only gave her that tight smile again and nodded at her.

The grim Northman then walked back to his family, and he motioned to the beautiful lady that stood beside him, ''This is my wife Lady Catelyn, Lady of Winterfell.'' Myrcella watched as the auburn-haired lady curtsied before them all, smiling gently up at all of them. _No, she is definitely not her sister…_ Only the simple thought of Lady Lysa actually smiling to someone seemed almost comical to Myrcella, for all she truly remembered where those crazed eyes and that grimace that seemed to have frozen on her face. Yet Myrcella knew how different siblings truly could be, and that no one ought to take one for the other. _Just look at Joff and Tommen… Brothers in thick blood, but strangers because of their differences_.

Myrcella was briskly dragged from her thoughts as she heard Lord Stark's boots shuffle in the snow beneath them all - as he walked further down the line… and towards the boy who Myrcella had found staring at and stared at herself only mere seconds before, and she felt her stomach knit together into a knit of nerves out of pure eagerness of finally being told his name. Lord Stark settled his gloved hand over the boy's shoulder, and told them all, ''This is my firstborn son Robb, and my heir.'' Myrcella's heart bolted painfully against her frail chest. _Robb_. It did fit him most well… a very beautiful name, indeed. _Robb means bright, famed and shining. I remember that from Septa Eloise's lessons as Robert has the same meaning._

Lord Stark then walked further down the line again and informed them, ''This is my daughter Sansa.'' Myrcella inspected the, _oh so_, pretty girl quietly. She looked the spitting image of her mother; with a tall and slim frame, brown-red, long hair, blue eyes, fair skin, red lips, sharp nose. She was dressed the prettiest of her family, clothed in a dazzling, long green dress that reached down to the snowy ground beneath her and held a pattern of exclusive flowers of both the color red and gold. _She is so pretty_, Myrcella smiled to herself. What surprised her though, was the way Lady Sansa's blue eyes kept on travelling to Joff; her lips curled up in a bright smile, looking so much like a girl in love. Truly, Myrcella could not blame her… her brother Joffrey was a very handsome boy indeed, with his pouty lips and his fair hair and his green eyes and his tall frame. He was an arrogant brat, though, and seemed to like the taste of tears upon pretty girl's faces… and it was _that _very thought that had pity fill the princess' heart when she thought of the small Stark girl. Even so, when Myrcella looked back at her golden-haired brother; she tried to prevent herself from rolling her eyes as she saw him grin at the small girl… clearly growing cocky by the attention shown his way. _Treat her well if you are to sweep her __off__ her feet_, Myrcella thought to herself, eyeing her brother warily. _Do not be the little selfish brat I know you are, but be the man that will one day sit upon the Iron Throne_.

Myrcella looked back at Lord Eddard Stark as he turned towards a smaller girl, ''And my youngest daughter Arya,'' The Northman informed them, putting his gloved hand over the small girl's head before she swatted it away with a heavy frown upon her common face; making her lord father smile. The girl he motioned for this time looked nothing like her older sister, nor her handsome brother, nor her mother. Instead she had short, black hair which looked very tangled and snarled together; while her eyes were grey as her lord father's. She looked very much like Lord Eddard Stark…. truly, she was the only child that had favored her father's coloring and not her lady mother's. The small girl had a bony little body that was clothed in a grey gown that had been covered in mud up to her, _oh so_, slender waist. She had a long face, a small, pointy nose, and very pale skin. _She looks ever the northman, just as I had imagined them truly._ Myrcella thought to herself, puzzled. _This little girl is just like Lyanna Stark was described, dark of hair, grey of eyes… But if Lyanna Stark looked as this little girl, how ever can Father choose her over Mother? _Myrcella knew she was being cruel, and thought more than she ought to… but she could not stop thinking such either way. Somehow the little girl may be pretty, but she was no Lannister beauty; and that's why Myrcella was so saddened. Either way, the little girl whose name was Arya; was looking at all of them with clear boredom, eyes inspecting all of them with tired eyes that told Myrcella that she would much rather be elsewhere.

Finally, Lord Stark walked further down the line and stopped at a small and very sweet boy, ''This is my son Bran.'' He motioned to the little boy whose auburn hair reached down further than to his shoulders in gallant curls. The small boy then quickly took a step forward with his short leg; before he turned towards them and said with a proud smile, ''I am going to be a soldier when I grow a man.'' Myrcella laughed lightly at the sweet boy as everyone else did the same. He was very small, but had broad shoulders and looked very strong for a boy such as his age._ It is definitely not impossible for such a dream to come true_, Myrcella smiled to herself. _I shall even pray for it_. Finally, Lord Stark walked down to a much smaller boy, and he declared, ''And this is my youngest son Rickon, who just reached his third nameday last moon.'' Myrcella felt her lips tug up in a smile as she watched the small boy. He stared at all of them with big, wide, blue eyes. He had these tiny auburn curls upon his round head, and his frame was adorably short... And _gods_, Myrcella got the strong desire to release a high-pitched sound to justify how utterly sweet this boy really was.

Lastly, Lord Stark marched back to all of them, and he motioned to the icy castle behind him; ''Your Highness… We all truly hope you'll find comfort under your stay here.''

''Aye, Aye, Aye.'' Her father swatted Lord Stark's courtesy away with a flick of his large hand. ''Ned, take me down to the crypts. I wanna pay my respect.''

_It only took mere seconds for him to wield his heart for Lyanna Stark again, for him to forget about everyone but her. Truly, as I knew this were to happen; I am surprised that it hurt this much. Gods, poor Mother for Father's cruel behavior. _Knowing how utterly embarrassing and hurt she would have been if it had been her husband that had shown everyone his love for another - dead - woman; she would have been torn between rights and wrongs… so Myrcella was very surprised when her mother only looked emotionlessly at her king husband. _She is so unbelievably strong. A queen in more than name_. Taking a deep breath, Myrcella looked around Winterfell again, her mind leaving her unsettled; knowing that the woman who had broken her father had once walked upon this very ground she now stood upon. Yes, it was a very queer thought, indeed…. one that she was not fond of. A small but powerful and most forbidden part of her wanted to scream at her father for being so terribly rude to his own family, for letting his lost lover blind him for the love _she_ held for him, the love that came so strongly from his children. _Sometimes I even wonder if he sees us at all, if he even have any affection in his heart for us… or if he only imagines us all as black-haired and grey-eyed children that has been birthed by another woman he cherish and belongs to. _She had always been too frightened to ask the forbidden question, because in the dark depths of her heart she already knew the answer; and it was not one she desired to receive.

With a bristle of her shining silken skirts, the queen quickly spoke up, voice numb and stony, ''We've been riding for _months_, my love… Surely the dead can wait.''

Her father looked back at his queen wife with a glare, blue eyes darkened and challenging, and Myrcella expected him to curse at her in fury for telling him what to do, or for telling him what was the best… but the princess was very surprised when all he did was look back at his old friend and bark out angrily, ''_Ned_, take me to the bloody crypts, _now_.''

Tears thickened her vision, but Myrcella only swallowed hard and watched as her father and Lord Stark walked away towards the crypts, leaving everyone behind. Everyone stood still even long after the two highborn men had walked away, the air only but turning heavier with the awful emotion of uncertainly. _Northerners and Southerners do not get along_, Myrcella remember hearing all the thousands tales say. _They are like sun and snow, coldness and warmth, darkness and light… They have fought for centuries. We are not alike, nor will we ever be. _Even so, Myrcella did not think the people before her looked rather cruel, but quite the opposite. Myrcella could see that the sweet Lady Sansa was still staring at them nervously, and the young princess could see the way the auburn-haired girl wanted to approach them and speak with them… and yet it was most clear that she was all too nervous to do so. It made Myrcella want to go up to the small girl herself, but knowing that the auburn-haired boy who made Myrcella anxious in more ways than one stood right beside her - Myrcella instantly cowered and only but smiled warmly at the small girl to see the way her Tully blue eyes instantly lightened and she quickly reached up her hand to wave at her with one of the most prettiest smile Myrcella had ever witnessed.

''Making friends already, sweetling?'' Uncle Jaime's voice spoke up beside her. ''You have never had trouble in finding companions, I must say.''

Myrcella only but smiled lighter, ''They all seem very lovely, don't you think so?''

Uncle Jaime was only but silent, and Myrcella's eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him to see him look down at her with disagreeing eyes, as if scolding a child who had said the silliest of things. It was an unfamiliar glimpse in his eyes, one he had never used on her before; one that held so much more protectiveness and somehow even more anger that when he looked at her father - and gods, Myrcella did not like it at all. It felt as if there were a thousands of bugs crawling underneath her pale skin - biting and stinging - as Myrcella's eyes stared into that greenness in Uncle Jaime's eyes. Myrcella's lips parted in wonder, and she desired to ask him what truly made him look at her like this, exactly what meaning in her spoken words that made him look so frightened and angry at the same time. Yet her tongue was all too heavy to truly ask all these questions… or mayhaps she was too frightened for the answer. Uncle Jaime's lips pursed, and he finally let Myrcella go from his unbreakable stare as he looked back at the Starks with a dangerous frown. Myrcella did not let him go with her eyes though, and she silently watched the emotion in his eyes as he looked at the northerners. Out of nowhere, her handsome uncle turned towards her again, and regained that cocky smile of his as if nothing had happened while reaching forward and cupping her cold face in his strong palm.

''You ought not forget, sweetling, that history cannot be rewritten.'' He told her, voice cool. ''The only thing lions and wolves do is destroy each other. Do not be fooled.''

The golden princess was enveloped by a consuming coldness as a faint whisper inside her head claimed,_ But I am no lion... I am a stag._

* * *

**So there you guys go, but I have some things I would like to speak about. Well first of all, Myrcella's ''_dream_'' is basically inspired by Cersei, as she occasionally has dreams that seem to be prophetic. I'm not really going to make a big deal about it as we don't really know if Myrcella have the same gift, but it kind of just happened... and I'm not really certain if it's going to happen again,_ perhaps_ ;) Also, I wanted to write a little Myrcella/Joffrey/Tommen time as well, because we all know what lays in the future for them... and what kind of terrors that will occur. I want to make it clear as well that Myrcella loves Joffrey because he's her brother, and even though she's very wary of him strongly dislike him - she _does_ love him, of course she does! Also, I'm planning to be as faithful to the books as I possibly can, and we all know that Myrcella had a _huuuge_ crush on Robb; so nothing will be different here. I wager she would be very smitten by the sight of him (ooh, who wouldn't?). It's very cute actually. Anyway, I would be very thankful if you guys were to leave me a small review! Thank you so much for reading, xx. **


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